


Demon Knights: The Crown of Queens

by Intergalactic Space Bling (sirtrino)



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Demon Knights
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 89,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirtrino/pseuds/Intergalactic%20Space%20Bling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty years ago, in the town of Little Spring, seven "heroes" united to defeat the power mad Questing Queen.  They found themselves with the name, "The Demon Knights" and had many fantastic and bizarre adventures.  Though they think their work is done, it is far from over.  The year is 1043 and these are the adventures of the Demon Knights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Forever humankind has been caught in the rise and fall of its greatness.  The eternal symbol of human strength, the citadel of Camelot, has been built toward the heavens only to come crashing down by the evils of men’s hearts.  It is an unending war fought by soldiers of all corners of the Earth, mages, warriors, soldiers, and gods.  Sworn to the survival of Camelot is the Merlin the magician, he must watch the storm and search for the incarnations of the once and future king.  His power, though great, was limited and so he dubbed seven strangers with the duty to ensure the final rise of Camelot.  They are called, The Demon Knights._

_Sir Ystin, the Shining Knight, sworn sword of Artus the Bear King.  Jason of the Blood, former squire of Merlin and carrier of Etrigan the Demon.  The Horsewoman, mysterious rider uncanny with the bow.  Vandal Savage, the scheming serpent and ever gluttonous warlord.  Exoristos, the once exiled Amazon, a warrior stronger than the tallest keep walls.  Al Jabr, the brilliant inventor.  And Madame Xanadu, the fey sorceress._

_Drawn together by fate, they halted the horde of the Questing Queen and Mordru, set out to deliver Camelot to the princesses Alba and Sarum, escaped the bowels of Hell, waged war on the plains of Avalon, battled the vampiric army of Cain, recovered the holy grail, and stored it within the walls of Al Wadi._

_With the grail resorted and in safe keeping, their adventures should be over.  That couldn’t be farther from the truth….._


	2. Al Jabr

    Along the Mediterranean sits the city of Al Wadi.  It is a city unlike any other, either in Moorish Spain or those of the Christians.  That is because it does not have Al Jabr.  Al Wadi has sewers deep under its foundation.  There are balloons that sit in armories.  Aqueducts run into the city from high rivers.  A great cannon, larger than a house is pulled through the streets to be melted down.  Its previous owners lay dead in the fields, giants that thought to take the city.  The men of Al Wadi walk by their carcasses with masks to prevent disease.  They have the unfortunate job of stripping the fallen monsters of all their valuables.  Like the cannon being, the spoils of war go to the people.  A giant’s gold ring will be sent to the treasury.  Armor and swords that cover a thousand paces can remake damaged buildings even stronger.  All leather can be made into clothes.  Al Wadi does not even spare the bodies.  Giant bones can made into excellent building supplies.  The most unfortunate people are the ones who must gut open the giants and extract their waste.  There will be plenty crops this year.  This is the type of city Al Wadi is.  It is built on innovation and ingenuity, fitting for it’s ruler, Al Jabr.

    Al Jabr is an old man, he has seen his share of adventures but now wishes for peace.  Obviously he shouldn’t have picked politics.  He spends his days in his palace, thinking of what comes next.  He has a personal library for all of his writing, pages upon pages of fascinating work.  Now he has assistants who must write when his fingers grow clumsy.  Al Jabr has lived a very long time.  He learned sources for diseases, and he keeps himself as clean as possible.  Any messenger birds are quickly killed, lest they bring a plague, and there has never been an outbreak yet.  Al Jabr’s gift, however, is also his plague.  As his mind grows stronger, his body becomes weaker and frail.  He realizes that even he must yield to death.

    Ironic what now sits deep in his palace.  The battle with the giants has brought some things into his walls which could change the course of human history.  It is why he now sits in his study, alone, pondering what must come next.  The stories of Al Wadi have spread far and wide.  His airships, his electrickery, horses which talk, and machines beyond understanding. While many are but rumors, far too many are true.

    There was a knock at the door.  “Excuse me Caliph, but there is someone here claiming to represent Themyscira.”

    “Themyscira?”  Al Jabr pondered, “Let her in.”

    The study doors groaned open.  In walked a woman clad in armor.  She looked like someone out myth.  She was tall and muscular, not as much as Exoristos but certainly close.  Behind her dragged a luscious red cape of golden trim as she walked to Al Jabr’s chair. Al Jabr grabbed his cane.  His bones creaked as he stood.  “Forgive me ambassador, I am old.”  He cracked his back and stood hunched over, “We mortals do age so quickly.  What has given me the honor to be called upon by Themyscira?”

The Amazon went to one knee, “I am General Philipus, I speak on behalf of Queen Hippolyta.  Her highness gives you her gratitude for sending your fighters to protect our shores from Cain and his vampires.  You are a rare exception to the brutality of Man’s world.  Please take this as a symbol of our thanks.”  She held out to him a sword.  It’s sheath was decorated with the women of Themyscira, crossing their wrists, a sign of protection and safety.

Al Jabr smiled.  He took the sword and unsheathed it.  It was beautiful,mirror-like.  It felt light in his weakened hands.  He gave it a few swings and it cut through the air with a song.  He returned the sword to its sheath.  “Please, stand.  You need not put on a formal face for me.  Take up a chair.”  Philipus was surprised by his forwardness and sat opposite him.   Al Jabr laid the sword against his chair, running his fingers over the hilt. “Your gift is by far, the grandest I have ever received.  I’ve never seen metal of this make, my compliments to the smith.  I would like your Queen to know that I was merely looking out for our mutual interests.  I have only met one of your warriors before, and believe me, an army like her under Cain would have killed us all.  I am humbled that you would even speak to me.  I have been told Amazons do not take kindly to the Man’s world.  I can’t say I blame you.  There are many warlords and mongers in this world.”  He paused, “Tell me, General Phillipus, I never had the chance to ask but is Greek your people’s native tongue?”

Phillipus was taken aback.  “Yes, it is,” she said, “though we are trained in all languages that we can find.”

Al Jabr smiled.  “Would you prefer we spoke that instead? “ he asked.  “If it suits you of course.”

“Very well,” said Phillipus in Greek.

Al Jabr continued, “Forgive me, I would have asked sooner but my mind is starting to house cobwebs.  Now, back to business.  I understand your people wish nothing more than to live on your island away from our woes, but given Cain’s attack it seems there are others who do not recognize that.  I only hope that you can live your lives as you wish, but from my time on this Earth, I have learned there are all manner of forces which endanger both yours and Man’s world.  That is why, I am wondering, if you would accept an ambassador from my city.  She’ll speak on my behalf and serve as a messenger between our worlds.”

“You wish to send us an envoy?” said Philipus.

“It doesn’t seem that unreasonable.”

Philipus’ brow raised and she pulled herself out of the chair.  “I will have to relay your proposal back to Queen Hippolyta, then.”

“It would be most gracious,” replied Al Jabr.  “Thank you for coming this far, General.”  He leaned upon his cane and stood, following her to the door..

Philipus left, two Amazons at her side.  “My, my,” Al Jabr thought to himself.  “They don’t call them Amazons falsely.”  He doubted Queen Hippolyta would meet his request, but perhaps he might get lucky.  If the Amazons were anything like Exoristos, they would likely be moved by honor than an olive branch.  He pondered what to do with the secrets locked deep away in his palace some more until finally he was struck with something.  He found a formal sheet of paper and his quill and ink.  He wrote with his finest hand writing for such an occasion.  His message was short and to the point:

: 

    “Dear Princess Alba and Princess Sarum,

        “I know how to raise Camelot.

    “-Al Jabr, Caliph of Al Wadi”

 

He sealed the letter and had it sent out on a messenger bird.  Al Jabr hated to dwell on the past, but maybe he could correct a mistake or two.


	3. The Horsewoman and Brickwedge

    “Yes!...Yes!…No!...Yes….No!...No!…No!”  Sarah fell face first into the flowers.  Brickwedge neighed with amusement as she brushed dandelions out of her face.  She looked up at her horse, covering her eyes from the midday sun.  “I almost had it that time.”

    Brickwedge offered her his reins and pulled her upright with a yank of his mighty neck.  “I never doubted you.”  Sarah smiled and ran her fingers through his mane.  Still holding onto Brickwedge, she pulled two carrots from her pack and offered one to him.  She lowered herself and sat down among the flowers.  He followed too, his squat legs and body nestled in the field.  “It’s not common for a cripple to learn to walk again,” he thought to her.

    “And being a well traveled mill horse, you would be so wise,” replied the Horsewoman.

    “Hey!  I was a tough horse on the streets, dealing with all sorts of danger!” said Brickwedge

    “A regular stallion of action.”  the Horsewoman snapped off flower and held it to the sun.  “It’s the strangest thing really, why would the Grail have healed my legs?”

    “You were nearby, it doesn’t seem that odd.” answered Brickwedge

    “My other injuries remained the same,” said Sarah,  “You’d think they would have been nothing compared to my legs.”

    “Take your blessing and be done with it,” said Brickwedge, “Come on, I’m hungry.”  He got up and shook his reins in Sarah’s face.

    “Me too, let’s go,” she said.  The Horsewoman slung herself onto Brickwedge and they took off into the forest, her bow out.

    The woods here were dark and dense, and far away from other people.  Sarah and Brickwedge rode farther and farther into the forest.  She hadn’t had time to herself for a long time and enjoyed the quiet.  She closed her eyes and listened to the hoof beats.  She let the  motion Brickwedge’s body course through her’s.  His hooves beat in harmony.  Together they leap over creak and dove under branch.  They would weave too and fro between the trees that roofed the woods with only the rhythmic thud of hooves to bother them.  She could ride on forever and deeper and deeper they rode into the cool forest.  It was then that Brickwedge lept up on his hind legs with a whinny.  “What’s wrong?” asked Sarah.  She glared around the winding woods, one hand on an arrow.

    “Something is sick here,” thought Brickwedge, “It went this way.”  He lurched off into the dark woods.

    Sarah saw the trail of hoof prints he was following.  They were of a heavier horse, nothing short of a great stallion.  It was wild one without any shoes.  Droplets of blood stained the ground.  Sarah called out to the horse with her mind as she did with Brickwedge, but she heard nothing.  The horse was up ahead.  Its color was empty and bare and its guts swung from its belly.  Best that she put the poor thing out of its misery.  She let loose an arrow with true aim for the poor thing’s head.  The horse yanked to the side and caught it in the leg, faster than she thought possible.  She shot another one, just as before, dodged that one full and the arrow had not hindered it.  

“Look!” said Brickwedge.  

To both sides was a great wolf, drool foaming from their jaws as they started closing in.  Sarah would not let this poor creature suffer and drew yet again.  This time, she aimed for a wolf.  With a yelp, it fell instantly, then three more lept out from the woods.  They took the horse in only a second.  They tore at its hanging entrails and began fighting over its pale flesh.  The horse only lay there.  Brickwedge came to a stop.  The flesh tore like paper and organs snapped like rope.  

“I don’t like this,” he said.  

The wolves began to writhe, coughing up the meat.  The horse, with it’s belly hanging open and blood all spilt, reared alive and sunk its teeth into one of the wolves’ neck.  The other wolves collapsed, their necks and bellies bulging.  Thier flesh turned gray and sick.  Fur and skin fell off in diseased chunks.  Together, the horse and the wolves stood up and stared at the Horsewoman and Brickwedge.

    Instantly, Sarah fired a shot into the closest wolf.  Her aim was true but the creature continued to growl with the point protruding from the back of its head.  A deep cracked voice spoke, not from the wolves, but through them.”Red one!”  

The creatures darted towards them.

“Brickwedge!”  

Brickwedge didn’t need to be told.  He was already running as fast as his legs could carry him, and the horse and the wolves were right behind them.  As the monsters ran, meat came right off their bones, leaving behind sick rotting pieces, but their speed only increased.  

Running, running mad for a way out of the woods, Brickwedge took whatever course came to him.  He didn’t care where it went.  

Sarah fired another arrow, but the wolves possessed the same reflexes of the horse and wove out of the way.  Desperate times called for desperate measures.  The Horsewoman went for one of the arrows Al Jabr had given her when she left Al Wadi.  

The arrow was heavier, with a small bag in place of a point, and with a fuse running along the shaft.  

She retrieved her flint box and lit the fuse.  This time she aimed for the ground between them.  When the horse in back was on top of it, the arrow exploded.  

The horse’s body went up in smoke and flames.  Two of the wolves were also thrown by the blast and their bodies flew into the trees with a loud crack.  Only the two other wolves remained.  The Horsewoman drew another bagged arrow.  The wolves instantly moved far away from each other.  They would not die the same way.  

Sarah spotted a stream with high cliffs on both sides.  

“Brickwedge!” she called out to him, “Follow the stream!”  

Brickwedge did as she said.  

They ran along the cliff with the wolves following close behind them.  Sarah waited until she saw a part of the cliff at the bend, the cliff hung over the stream but it was a far reach to the other side.  

“Take us across the stream over there!” she thought out to Brickwedge.  

The wolves were getting closer now.  She lit the arrow’s fuse.  They were coming close to the edge of the cliff.  

“Jump!”  

Brickwedge leapt into the air.  His squat but strong legs shot them up. Sarah looked back and saw the wolves about to jump.  She let the arrow loose.  

With a thunderous boom, the cliff came crashing down.  Brickwedge landed perfectly on the opposite side and saw the rocks burry the monsters.  “Good riddance,” he thought.

“They might survive still,” the Horsewoman peeked over into the stream.  One of the wolves had his upper body crushed under a boulder.  The other’s legs were broken but was still alive or at least pretended it was.  The Horsewoman dismounted, a knife at the ready, and began to climb down the cliff.

“Sarah!” called Brickwedge.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.  Her legs trembled all the same.  She lowered herself down by only her arms.  Spending a whole life dependent on them had some small advantages after all.  At the bank of the stream, she found a decent stick to rest her weight as she approached the creature.  Its wretched stench burned her nose and she had to swat away the storm of flies that was gathering.  The wolf saw her and Sarah put an arrow through its head.  She caught her stick before it hit the ground.  The monster continued to move regardless, trying to pull itself along the ground on its shattered legs.  The wolf was barely recognizable.  Its fur was nothing a few small patches.  Its eyes were rotten and oozing down its face.  All the flesh had fallen of its jaw, leaving only bare bone, and the stench.  The stench was like it have been rotting for days.  Still it continued to move with an arrow in its head and its body eating away.

That voice spoke again. “You serve the Red, woman.”

Sarah drew her shortsword and jabbed it deep into the wolf’s face.  “I don’t know what you mean, monster.  I haven’t met anything like you until today.  What are you?”

The old voice spoke, “I am what must be, Red one.  I am Rot.”

The Horsewoman put one foot on the creature’s neck and yanked her sword out.  “I pity that we met under such poor circumstances.”  With one chop, she took off the monster’s jaw.  “We could have had so much to talk about.”  She hacked at the creature’s neck.

Even without a jaw bone, the wolf spoke, “You kind is doomed to die.  All things decay with time and soon, you shall be one of us.”

“Personally,” she said, having now cut almost through its neck, “I have no clue about the Rot or the Red or the decay or whatever you’re talking about.  Not that I really care either, I haven’t aged in a long time, and I like it that way.  Whatever has possessed you, you poor creature, tell it this: Do not come back to these woods.”  With a final slice, she severed the creature’s head.  The wolf’s body lay still and the voice disappeared.  All that remained was a rotting wolf corpse gathering flies.  “Good, that worked.”  Sarah cleaned her blade in the river and scaled back up to Brickwedge.

“What sort of monster was that?” he asked.

“No idea,” she replied.  “Come on Brickwedge, perhaps we’ll find something in town."


	4. Vandal Savage

    A broken old man came to the palace of God.  His back was curved, his clothes were ragged, and his beard had grown long.  He collapsed on the stairs and a priest came to him.

“Your poor soul, let me tend to you.”  He lowered water to the old man’s lips.  

The man whispered words of thanks.  

“What is your name, my son?”

    “I am Vandal Savage and I’m here on family business,” and the old man smiled his old serpent smile.

 

    The palace of God stood upon a hill, opposite seven others.  The hill had the same name, Vatican.  A  lacking name in Vandal’s opinion, not to mention they got the spelling wrong.  But mortals needed their shrines, and would call them all sorts of silly things.  Vandal was a man who did not care for theology; he saw it as irrational.  He had lived longer than any of their beliefs, save that one about the birds his father had once taught him, and they all ended the same way.  Once Etrigan had pointed out that his existence refuted his stance and Vandal had just laughed it off.  He was amazed not even demons understood such basic things.

The servants worked silently as they scrubbed all the caked mud off.  Vandal hadn’t been this dirty in a long time.  He had travelled nearly a thousand miles, not a penny to his name nor a day of rest. His feet had blisters on top of blisters.  His hair was a horrid stinking mess. He had been worse before. That whole Troy incident, for instance, had gone on far too long and left him with only a pair of sandals and some worthless apple.  

One of the servants said his hair was utterly ruined, they would have to cut it. He replied simply, “You will not.”  

The boy explained it was not possible to save his hair. 

“Find a way.  Or you will wish you were born a dung beetle.”  

The servants saved his hair, his beautiful black locks and full beard. He was given better-fitting robes and prepared to meet His Eminence, the Pope. A son of the counts of Tusculum if he recalled, the real power behind the voice of God. He heard it was some young scrap, Benedict IX or something.  Why they bothered with with those numerals astounded him.  They had been ridiculous when he first saw them and they were ridiculous now.  Regardless, this fool stuck a big terrible number on his name.

He was told how he was to address his eminence and all other sorts of pointlessness  by some big fool in armor too polished to have seen combat.  

“I am Captain Haroldus, I am head of his Lordship Benedict IX’s guard.  I have heard much about you, Vandal Savage.  Do not think you can do as you wish here. You will address him with the respect he deserves.”  The captain stood with his escort at his side in their proud armor.

“I’ve heard he’s quite young,” said Vandal. “Does he take time off his duties to suckle?”  He smiled again.  

Haroldus stared dead at him and hand went to his sword.  

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  Vandal put his hand on his Haroldus’ shoulder.  

The bones snapped with a fine crunch and Haroldus fell onto the ground screaming.  

“It’s poor manners. I’ll let you off easy today, be grateful you kept your sword sheathed. You lot,” he said to the escort, “Come, come.  We mustn’t keep m’lord waiting!”  He clicked his heels and marched out to with the guards following.

    The papal chambers stood high.  Tapestries of rich histories hung from the walls.  The abuse of crucifixes was astounding.  At the far end was His Eminence, draped in his formal robes and looking rather bored.  “Welcome, Vandal, you please us with your presence and such.  You have traveled far and I hope everything is to your liking,” he spoke with a wave of his hand.  Tell us, what brings you here that you grace our halls with your presence?”  The pompousness of this fat wart was astounding.  He sat in his holy throne with bulky rings cutting off his fingers and his sceptre leaning against his chair.  This Benedict IX seemed more interested in the moths circling the ceiling than Vandal Savage.  He had walked for days without food or water and was fine about it.  But this, this lumpy oaf is what made Vandal’s blood boil.

“Well my lord,” said Vandal.  He paused for dramatic effect. “I have traveled far to bring you the most important of news regarding the most sacred of artifacts, the Holy Grail.”  

Benedict’s heavy eyes were suddenly lifted.  He looked upon Vandal with newfound curiosity.  

“You see I have learned first hand the cup that carried Christ’s blood now rests in Al Wadi in the hands of Moors.  I see it as my true Christian duty to reclaim it,” he could have eaten these words with honey and they still would have wanted to come back up, “In the name of God!”  He did his best to hold back.

    Benedict burst into laughter.  His cackles echoed through the hall.  He clapped in amusement while all his court remained silent, though several despirately wanted to snicker. “You mean to tell me that you’ve come all this way to say you’ve found the blasted Holy Grail, of all things?  Oh that’s rich, that’s absolutely priceless!  Oh get him out of here will you?”  He kept laughing as Vandal and the guards stood still.

    Suddenly all that pain, all that pain to restrain himself was gone.  Vandal just stood there, looking at Benedict’s bouncing chins roll with his laughter. He smiled.  “Oh, I’m going to love this,” he whispered. He stepped forward, “Alright, allow me the opportunity to explain something to you, Benedict IX. The entire reason your flabby pompous ass sits on that glorified seat is because of me. If it wasn’t for me, your kind would still be fed to lions for Romans to laugh at.  Don’t think for a second that God smiles upon you. There is one single reason you sit here in Rome. It is because I willed it. Why? Simple. Because your kind are easier to manipulate, monotheists usually are. It has nothing to do with divinity or that your ridiculous book speaks a word of truth. I decided you should have one speaker for the voice of God because it would be easier for me to take control when I saw fit. You are nothing but a glorified chair warmer, Theophylactus of Tusculum. Your entire family exists so that I can rule whenever I want.”

    “Get him out of here!” demanded Benedict. The guards didn’t budge.

    Vandal chuckled to himself and walked toward the throne. “Oh Benedict, don’t fool yourself. I am the one with power here. You sit upon my throne, thousands of years in the making.  The legends, the myths, the rumors about me, they are all true. I’ve led armies to crush nations, I’ve routed legions with handfuls of farmers, I’ve built empires upon mountains of gold, and I’ve razed cities to the ground.”

Only a pair of foolish guards thought to move against him.  They held out their spears.  Before they could bling, Vandal had ripped one away and run its owner through.  The other one watched as his friend was hoisted up into the hair and flung into the opposite wall. Without pause, Vandal kept talking, “Alexander, Menelaus, Charlemagne, Caesar, I’ve fought them, I’ve been them. I am a general with the world as my battleground.  One day, I will rule all of you.” He knocked the spear from the other guard.  He grabbed him by the helm. The poor boy tried to loosen Vandal’s grip, but it was like trying to part great oaks.  There was a crunch as the guard’s helmet crushed down over his head and the halls echoed with his screams as blood oozed out onto the floor. He kept going, “Your life, all your lives, are measured by my scales and I assure you, the second I decide it, they are forfeit,” and with that Vandal’s thumbs went into the helmet’s eye holes. The screaming stopped and the body dropped to the floor.  Vandal looked back at Benedict, smiled, and kept walking

    “Stand back, don’t you dare touch me do maniac!”  Benedict drew a dagger and slashed deep into Vandal’s face.  

Vandal just grinned even more.  With blood dripping down his face and into his mouth he continued, “There is one other thing many forget about me. While I will never die of old age, I need to heal. It’s an oddly specific criteria, took me ages to figure it out. But it’s the rules.”  

He held Benedict’s trembling hand.  “I must eat the flesh of my descendants.  So please, open your heart to your dear old great something or other grandfather, patriarch of the Counts of Tusculum. Now, I’m just going to borrow this.” 

Benedict screamed. His small finger came off with a nice twist and a snap.  

Vandal ripped the stringy flesh from his finger bones.  “Now, kneel like the dogs you are.”

And so the all the Vatican court kneeled for their lord, Vandal Savage.


	5. Xanadu and Jason

The highwaymen laughed at Jason when his boot came off in the mud.  His arms spun around like windmills as his balance left him and he went face down in the muck.  Xanadu’s hand grabbed his cloak and yanked him upright.  When he wiped the grime off his face, he saw the bandits had fallen over howling.  

“Stop laughing!” he shouted.  

Jason Blood and Madam Xanadu were surrounded on all sides by a choir of snickering bandits, nine in total.

“Oh do you hear that?” said their leader, “the fearsome Jason Blood demands we silence our tongues!  Best we do as m’lord says!”  He let loose an thunderous series of cackles.

Jason shouted while waving his boot at them, “Stop laughing at me!”  Xanadu caught his hand as it reached for his short sword.  Her eyes focused on the pair of men with bows pulled tight and focused on them.

Xanadu spoke, “Please good sirs, we are but weary travelers.  We have nothing on our persons to offer you.  Perhaps if we were to travel to the next town, we could steal you a meal for the night…”

“Don’t waste your breath woman,” said the leader,  “You have nothing we want.”  He addressed his men. “Kill them.”  

The archers let loose their arrows. 

Xanadu held out her arm, chanted in some phantom tongue and the arrows bounced back as if they had hit stone.

She whispered to Jason, “Now would be a very good time for a demon to save us.”

“To hell with him,” replied Jason.

The bandits all took a step back. “Well this was unexpected,” said the leader as he stroked his beard.  His archers had already redrawn their bows.  He motioned for them to hold.  “You’re a sorceress, then.  Does that mean he’s your eunuch?”  That got some uneasy chuckles from his men.  “I might have had you figured wrong then.  Perhaps you are more valuable alive after all.”

Xanadu whispered to Jason, “Get him out here!”

“Why is he always the solution for everything?”

Xanadu rolled her eyes, “Of what use could we be to you?”

“Well that depends, can you conjure us up a plump bag of gold?” said the highwayman.  

Xanadu smirked.  She held out her hands and chanted in tongues of old and beyond men’s knowledge.  Her eyes glowed and lines of unknown script snaked around her.  With a blast of thunder, a bag appeared.  It sat, large as a man, before the highwayman and his men.  

The leader cut it open with his knife and solid gold coins poured into his hand.  He howled with joy, “My my lads, today is most profitable!”  The bandits cheered and crowded around their prize and began splitting up the gold.

“We hope everything is to your liking,” said Madam Xanadu. “We’ll be on our way now.”  She walked off with Jason, still holding his boot.  They waited until they were far away from the men to talk.

“So how long do you think they’ll take to figure out that it’s nothing but pebbles?” asked Jason.

“Let the poor fools dream,” said Xanadu, “They’re lucky someone was too arrogant to bother saving us.”

“Etrigan should not be the solution to all of our problems,” said Jason, “I can be more useful than just going to hell every time.  I can be helpful too.”

“You certainly were,” replied Xanadu, “See how you bravely handled those bandits?  They were rooted stiff in pure fear!  The fearsome Jason Blood silenced them!”

“Shut up,” said Jason.  They walked in silence a while longer.  “I’m not completely useless you know.  I can stand my own.”

Xanadu sighed, “Jason…”

“I have my own spells!  I served under Merlin!” said Jason, “Why is is that the only means that I am ever allowed to help is to be sent to Hell?  It makes me wonder if your ‘false affection’ for him is false at all!”

“You know that is not true,” said Xanadu, “Etrigan is a perverse sickening brute with all the manners of a rabid dog.”

“Tis not what Vandal has said about your interplay,” said Jason.

“Vandal!  Vandal?” said Xanadu, “You take the words of that serpent to heart?”

Jason paused.  “Tell me I am not just the escort for a demon, that you only hold onto me to keep him around.”

“Jason,” Xanadu ran her fingers through his hair, “You are brave and you are kind.  You are nothing like that monster.”  She pecked him on the cheek.  “Now, let’s wash all this mud off your face.”  They found a river along the road.  Jason scraped all the muck out of his hair. and off his face, and from his toes.  Xanadu sat by a tree, looking through some papers.  Jason asked what they were.  “These are some ancient histories I borrowed from Themyscira and these some books from Al Wadi.  I think I have noticed something about them.  Both Ystin and Vandal said they visited Camelot along their travels.  Camelot isn’t a true place as much as it is a force, it appears again and again across human history as a city destined for greatness that inevitably collapses.  Ystin served Artus the Bear King centuries ago and Vandal said he’s visited several across the ages.  When placed along a timeline, patterns emerge.  Before these cities can achieve their greatest potential, they fall, their incarnation of King Arthur is slain and the walls crumble to decay.  They always seem to line up at a specific time, and if these calculations are correct, the next fall of Camelot is upon us.”

“The grail is in Al Wadi,” said Jason, “Does that mean Al Jabr is the once and future king?”

“It would seem,” said Xanadu, “we should find a means to consult Merlin.”  The pair continued on the road in silence with heavy hearts.  They had seen their own Camelot fall before and they had no way to describe the horrors of that day.  It was on that day that Xanadu sought to deny fate and lost her chance to sail on into Avalon.  It was on that Jason Blood had been bound to the Demon Etrigan and cursed with its burden.  Whenever Camelot falls, humanity falls with it.

 

They reached a small town.  The place was rather simple but it did have an inn.  They entered and purchased a room.  The room, though cramped, was comfortable.  They laid up their aching feet and shared the notes on Camelots.  When night fell, they snuck out the window and into the woods.  Hidden away in the forest, they pulled up their hoods and laid out their tools.  They opened up pouches of salts, animal bones, and numerous potions.  Carefully, they set them upon the ground.  “Merlin could be anywhere across all sorts of plains,” said Xanadu.  “I think we shall need some extra aide.”

Jason quivered, “But I…”

“Please, my love, it shall only be a while.”

Jason swallowed and spoke the words,

“Gone, gone the form of man,

“Unleash the demon, Etrigan.” 

Flames engulfed him and pulled him down.  Xanadu in the forest was torn away.  The

ground disappeared and he plummeted into the inferno.  Jason’s skin sizzled, boiled, and oozed.  Taloned hands clawed at him.  His clothes were ripped away.  His eyes were gouged at.  His ears bled to the screams of the condemned.  He gazed upon the plains of Hell.  Endless roads where lost souls were whipped and beaten.  Screaming naked bodies thrown into the ever gaping maws of demon kings.  Men bound together in flesh as pillars to support the foundation of their torment.  Jason knew it well.  His legs snapped when he landed.

“Welcome back Jason,” said Claudia, “we missed your company.”  

Jason’s bones squirmed around as they came back into place.  His cuts and bruises healed with his unnatural speed.  Of course that was painful beyond belief as well.  

Jason looked around.  Etrigan’s victims wailed in their burning cages hung high from rafters.  Others were splayed out on tables with the flats of their stomachs nailed down with spikes mid-dissection.  Then there was poor Claudia, Etrigan’s first victim.  An iron rod protruded from the side of her head and impaled both her eyes.

“It is nice to see you again, Claudia,” said Jason.

Jason was handed a bucket by a man in priest robes and a horrible blistering mark in the shape of a hand burned into his face.  

The water was sizzling and churning, the smell burned his nose.  He had only been here a few seconds and already he was dying for a drink.  

“Thank you Father Theod,” said Jason.  He threw his head back and drank the vile sludge.  As it trickled down his throat, he felt it burning away at his insides and his stomach felt like it would rupture.  

Jason had become well acquainted with Etrigan’s victims.  He had known plenty in their mortal lives before they came plummeting down here to join him.  With every visit here, the number increased.  Anyone who sought to be in Etrigan’s path was doomed to be forever trapped in these walls of his.  Jason noticed the happy little collection he had made from the Questing Queen’s soldiers from Little Spring, their skins all sewn together so that their heart beats ripped at the seams.  There were also plenty of vampires of Cain’s army as well, impaled through the chest with a spit and roasted over a raging fire.  While Etrigan understood some principles of symbolic punishment, he was more or less a brute.

“It is nice to see you again Jason,” said Father Theod, “We have heard that Al Jabr now holds the cup of Christ.  He was such a good man, how has he been?”

“Jabr has made a good life for himself, he owns a city in Spain,” Jason replied.

“A city you say?  My, my, I knew he was a clever one but I never thought he would lay down laws of his own,” said Theod, “I wish I could have had a better chance to know him.”  

Father Theod had the misfortune of encountering Etrigan some 30 years ago.  In a fit of anger, he branded Theod with his hand and the poor man died the same day.  Jason only met him when he fell into the inferno, still praying to forgive Etrigan rather than to save himself.  In order to save his town of Little Spring, if you could call it saving, Jason had had to bottle up the broken man’s tears and give them to Xanadu. The weepings of the innocent in Hell was a powerful contradiction and enough to turn the tide, though Little Spring itself was lost.  Yet this man, strong in his faith, never felt anger towards Etrigan and always tended to Jason as he was forced down here with the demon’s victims.

“I’ve heard stories about vampires and giants and Amazons,” said Father Theod. “I thought such things were only myth.”

“I thought so once myself,” said Jason, “funny how that happens.  Father Theod, I promise you, I will find a way to-”

Theod cut him off.  “It’s alright son.  I lived a good life and I think Etrigan has become bored with me over the…..however long it’s been.  Even if I could not help save Little Spring, I take solace in knowing the Questing Queen did not take Alba Sarum.  You carry many griefs and will carry many more, but you are a good man.  There is nothing on Earth or in Hell that can take that from you.”

Etrigan’s voiced boomed from high above: 

"Gone, gone, O Etrigan!

“Resume once more the form of man!"

“Untill we meet again, Jason Blood.”  The world was sucked out from under Jason as the

caves of Hell came racing toward him and his feet felt the cool touch of grass.  He collapsed beside the circle Xanadu had created, its magic spent.  He gasped at the clean and pure air free of sulfur.  He felt the freezing breeze of a warm summer’s night and clear blue water poured to his lips by Xanadu.

“Drink my love,” she said.  This sludge she had gotten from the river was crystal euphoria, as if he had never tasted water before.  He felt like crying.

He drank the pouch dry before asking.  “What did Merlin say, my love?”

“He says that a great evil is heading towards Camelot.” said Xanadu,“A city is close to reaching the point where it may lead the world into a new age, but if we do not intervene soon, it will be lost.”

“What city?” asked Jason.

“Alba Sarum.”


	6. Xanadu and Etriga

“And you make eighteen,” said Etrigan.  He pierced the vampire through the top of his head and put him up on the spit with the his brethren.  They screamed in succulent agony over the roaring flames.  Thier wails echoed far and wide across the plains of Hell.  

Etrigan gave an crooked toothy smile.  

He called out, “Theod!  Where in Lucifer’s name are you?”  

He saw the quivering pathetic sack hiding behind an iron maiden. Father Theod, crying again, and holding a goblet in his hands.  

“About time,” roared Etrigan, “I sent you out on one simple job and you take your own sweet time.  I’ve been dying of thirst.” 

He swiped the cup out of Theod’s hands and drank the liquid down in one go.  Witches’ blood always had that touch of zest.  “What took you so long?”

Father Theod stood there in his ragged clothes, still holding onto his cross, stammering like a child.  “I...I...I was attacked by some demons on the way.  They thought it a bit of fun to pluck out my eyes and…put them in backwards.  Then they thought to cut my belly open and swing me around by my insides.”  He curled up and started crying some more.

“Who were these demons?” Etrigan demanded.  Theod kept weeping.  With a huff, Etrigan drew a sword and jabbed it into his foot.  “Who?”

Father Theod winced in pain. “I don’t remember.  I think one of them was called Balmorus.”

Etrigan yanked the sword out.  “Balmorus, eh?” he said, “I am unfamiliar with that name.  ‘Tis of no noble devil that I should know.”  Etrigan stretched out his leathery wings and soared above the walls of his chambers.  All about lay the flaming plains of Hell, the atmosphere of screaming and pain thick as molten rock.  He saw a pair of demons laughing down a path of human backs and impersonating Theod’s pathetic pleads for mercy that he was well familiar with.  He swooped down in front of them dressed in his finest armor.  “You, worms, what be your names?”

One had clothes sewn from skin.  His jaws were rowed with shark teeth and his single eye was a tiny rodent-sized one in his triangular head.  He slithered away at Etrigan’s sight.  The other was a bare.  She had a fat belly and lumped twisted pairs of arms and a set of half-eaten bat wings.  She laughed and pointed at Etrigan’s feet for some reason.  “And so a yellow demon did come to my path.  His horns so short and legs so squat.  He thought an armor makes a demon full but all his is full of is dung!” she said.

The other one spoke, “At...at best clue...devil’s...efforts for great hatred intended just...just….just...”

Etrigan grumbled and grabbed them both by their necks.  “I have no time for the pathetic word plays of a prose demon and….whatever you are!” he shouted, “You to attacked my servant, didn’t you?  You plucked out his eyes and did whatever else so underwhelming it has earned you this place in Hell!”

The prose demon cackled some more,”And so we were come upon a demon master spurred, angry that we did our jobs more enjoyably.  Perhaps he had been less capable and angry at us?”

Etrigan huffed out sulfur fumes.  “You’ve tested enough of my patience, now let’s see,

Lowly vermin caste so low,

Into the the pit you are thrown!”

“And so he spoke a terrible verse” said the female.  Hands ripped from the ground and seared the flesh from their bones.  Etrigan laughed as they were pulled deeper into the inferno.

“Well it might keep them busy for a few decades.” he said.

 

“Claudia!” boomed Etrigan, “Where are you?”

“No point in yelling, I’m right here,” she said. “Half of Hell could hear your bellows.”

“Silence, you stuck pig!” he said. “I’ve had enough squabbling for one day.”  

Etrigan sat down in his ugly metal throne in the center of his chambers.  He had forgotten what cursed soul had lost it to him along with half their kingdom.  Maybe it had been one of those corrupt ones, those were always fun.  

He drank another goblet of witches’ blood and enjoyed the chorus of screaming vampires on the spit.  With this latest adventure over, he supposed he could enjoy himself a little, even if it meant losing touch with Xanadu. Even then, he could find some demons that could meet his tastes.  He took another goblet.  

He was awakened from boredom when a crow came flying into his chambers with a letter in its claws. There was a seal of one of the lower demon houses, Fy’gpath, which had several tribes under its command.  

Etrigan had no such house. He had once served directly under Lucifer until a falling out a few centuries ago.  It was a deal between him and his son, Merlin, that had bound him to Jason and it did present some amusement to the Prince of Lies.  It was also because of this that Etrigan was spurned by his fellow demons. Him chained to a human was no end of laughter.  

The only reason for his lavish quarters decorated with victims was thanks to his visits to the mortal realm.  He had quite the choice collection of warlords, priests, kings, monsters, beggars, a few spare giants, mages, sell-swords, and bards a plenty.  Though he had yet to find a proper druid.  

Despite his wealth, no demon would be caught being seen with him.  Not that the plane of mortals fared much better.  Up there, Xanadu would “domesticate” him, make him try to hold back his ways.  It’s not like Jason pulled him up there to be a diplomat, he wanted Etrigan to fight his battles for him, the worm.  The old man, the Horsewoman, the knight, and the giantess all despised him and Vandal only liked him because of his murderous ways.  Granted Vandal could keep some good company. He was one of the few people who really knew what humans are: blind and ignorant animals crawling about in their own madness.  Anyone in Hell could tell you that.  

In the infernal pits of Hell, Etrigan considered himself twice damned.  He was the scourge of the Earth and the jester of Hell and neither suited him well.  It was then he heard the dreaded verses echo down to him:

“Gone, gone the form of man!

Release the Demon, Etrigan!”

“Might as well give him a rough landing,” he said to himself as he stood up out of his chair and found a nice rocky spot for Jason to fall on.  The great ceiling of Hell opened up and he was lifted up in a great beam of light.  

Etrigan found himself in a clearing in the middle of a forest.  A magic circle lay on the ground, some sort of summoning spell.  The pure air here loosened his lungs and he felt the goodness of the mortal realm begin to sink into his body and mind.

Xanadu held him and gave a long sweet kiss.  

“It’s good to be missed,” he said, “Now what reason have you coaxed out of that rat to bring me here?”

“This is business, my love,” replied Xanadu, “I seek Merlin’s council.”

“That swine?” fumed Etrigan.

“I know, my love, I know.” Xanadu pulled him close and drew circles on his great armored chest with her fingers.  “But I believe our business with Camelots is not yet done.”

“As if that business hasn’t been the source of enough troubles,” said Etrigan, “You dip your toe in those waters again and you’ll be summoning me another thousand times to fight your battles, what’s in it for me?”

“All sorts of things if you behave,” said Xanadu.  Her fingers walked their way down his chest.

“Curse you, woman,” said Etrigan, “you know me well.  I suppose such sacrifices are necessary in matrimony.  Though don’t think I won’t try to throttle that wizard the second I see his face.”

The two set to work finishing the circle.  Etrigan seamed his magics deep into the structure.  They stood opposite sides and recited in unison.  “Oh bones of elders and skulls of young.  Grant me vision of far flung. Fold us distance from valley depths to mountain peak, give us vision of whom we seek.”  The light of the moon glided down towards them, shining pale irony.  The ground twisted, the trees groaned, and in the circle was a pond of moon light.  Xanadu took off her shoes and stepped down into the pond.  First to her ankles, then her knees, then waist, and so on until she could see Etrigan staring down at her through the light.  

 

She was drifting an on open sea of nothing, below here was the infinite of a starry night.  She didn’t know if she was walking or floating, but she went forward, or was pulled, either way, she moved toward her destination.  

Shapes formed from the darkness and came towards her like from a fog.  It was a house, run down, decedent, solitary on this grassy turf in space.  Yet its towers stood high on the rotting foundation, its roof held despite the holes, and it stank of donkey.  A half eaten sign hung from a post “Welcome to the House of Mystery.”  Xanadu knocked.  The door creaked open on its own.

“Merlin?” she called out,  “Where are you?”  No answer, just a dark forsaken house.  Xanadu cast a ball of light from her hands and entered.  The boards below moaned under her feet.  The light revealed dark stairways that lead in all directions and extended beyond the outer walls of the house.  

“Where is that blasted man?” she said. 

Then there were footsteps.  Far off inside the house the floorboards moaned.  Someone was coming.  

She had a spell at the ready as she held out the light.  

“Who are you?”  

The footsteps did not answer.  

“If you do not respond I may have to,” she saw his face, “to…”  

She lowered her useless spell.  The helmet known to her by myth and legend, the cloak of flames, and the pouch of sand.  

Xanadu knelt. “Forgive me, I did not know this was your domain.”

“A simple mistake, young wizard,” said the Dream Lord.  “Your teacher is down the hall. He’s been wondering when you would come.”

“Thank you,” said Xanadu.  She remained kneeling in his presence.

“You are of the Fey, Nimue. Your other name given to you by time. Correct?”  She nodded. “Interesting. I have business elsewhere with a few of your companions. Dream well.”  He glided on air, fading away. When he had passed the doorway, he was gone.

Xanadu headed down the hallway with her light held out. She found an open doorway with light coming from it. In there was a man, his robes of golden purple and his silver cap.  He was much younger than she had expected.  His grey ragged beard was now trim and dark black and his wrinkles had all vanished.  He toiled away over scrolls and books, his room adorned with charms and powders.  

He spoke to himself, “No, no, that doesn’t seem right, why is that-”  

Xanadu knocked on the door.  

“Xanadu!” said Merlin, “What are you doing here?  What is it that you need?”  Merlin stank something horrible.  His bed hadn’t been tended to in decades and he seemed to have no other clothes.

“I’ve been looking for you, teacher,” said Xanadu.  “I have news of our progress.”

“What progress? What do you mean?” said Merlin.

“We found the Holy Grail.”

Merlin’s eyes went dead.  “You found it?” he said.

“Well, yes.  It’s safe in Al-Wadi,” said Xanadu, “I thought you would be proud.”

“Yes! But not now!” he picked up some of his charts and rattled them in her face. “Not yet! I had it planned! It was meant to be almost a century from now!”

“Where?” asked Xanadu.

“In Alba Sarum! Get out of here!” he said. “Stop the beasts!  Protect the Grail!”

 

Xanadu undid the spell and was back in the meadow.  

Etrigan stood over her.  “Are you alright?”  

Xanadu told him Merlin’s words.  

“Well of course we weren’t supposed to find it, that would have been easy,” he huffed. “What is the next move, then?”

“Give me Jason,” she said.

Etrigan groaned. “As you wish.” He spoke.

"Gone, gone, O Etrigan!

“Resume once more the form of man!"

A smoking Jason collapsed before her.  Just as things were becoming simple.

 


	7. Exoristos and Ystin

The sea was a glimmering sheet of blue, the sands the purest gold, and along the shore two strangers rode.  They were an odd pair.  One was short, leen, scrawny, he was dressed in scale armor, despite the sun, a red cloth wrapped around his waist, a sword by his side, and atop a horned helmet that concealed his hair.  His steed was also peculiar.  At its sides were a pair of glorious feathered wings similar to a dove, but longer than a man was tall.  The other traveler was like something carved from stone.  She was enormous, on horseback, even more so.  Her clothes were a skirt made of leather and trimmed with steel and covering which wrapped around her chest of similar make.  She had a thick braid of black hair that went down her entire back.  Her arms, legs, and stomach were bare for all the world to see.  They were something from a sculptor's dream, muscles that would make Hercules nothing more than a feeble child, so raw and massive.  Her legs were stronger than her steed’s and her arms like hammers.

The pair came to a small spot on the beach and decided to dismount.  The short one, a knight, undid their packs.  Though they had two tents, he only pulled out the one.  It was of simple make, not much to anyone, but to him it was the closest thing to home.  He made some rocks into a circle and then got out a spare bundle of firewood.  

“How big do you think we’ll eat tonight, Ex?”  he said.  

Exoristos replied, “I’m not familiar with this part of the Mediterranean, we’ll see what I find.”  She stripped herself of her armor and clothes, save for the bracelets and a small dagger, and walked into the waves.  She took a great breath and plunged into the water.

The sea floor was alit in glorious colors.  Fortresses of coral guarded the sands.  Between them ran shimmering schools of fish, darting this way and that.  Exoristos saw a pair of seahorses as large as her swimming far off, but none of it suited her.  So instead she did as all good hunters did and waited.  She hid in the branches of a coral and gazed over the sea bed.  Suddenly she noticed that the schools had all disappeared.  The reefs had been abandoned  Out of the corner of her eye came a great and terrible shark, its eyes black and empty and its maw wide and hungry.  She was too slow to avoid it.  The beast got her by the shoulder, her left arm in it’s mouth.  The teeth crunched over bone. The dagger slipped from her fingers as Ex held onto the side of the monster.  Unquivering to pain, she grabbed the slitted gills on the shark’s side with her bare hands and ripped them out, blood trailing behind them.  She then went for the eye.  Her thumb into its socket, squishing around with the ball until she could press down.  Dark red blood puffed out and the shark’s mouth released her.  She stopped as the shark went onward.  Her shoulder was riddled with open wounds.  The shark was coming back now.  Her dagger was lost, her arm limp, and nothing but her bare skin.  Finally a worthy match for an Amazon.  The shark’s mouth opened once again.

A massive claw shot out from the sea bed and began reeling the shark in.  The coral was uprooted, as its foundation lifted.  A great curved shell as wide as the beach arose from below.  Several more claws went out to drag the shark, wriggling like a worm, into the depths of the sands.  Two beady black stalked eyes rose like towers from the sea bed, looking upon Exoristos with empty hunger.  “At last,” she thought, “a real challenge.”

  
  


The stars were starting to come out as Ystin finished double checking for sand in his and Ex’s tent.  While beaches seemed like a grand campsite in theory, picking grains out of armor did not.  The fire he had built was roaring nicely and Ex’s clothes were cropped up next for her return.  With everything squared, he got a whetstone from his pack and unsheathed his sword.  He had already sharpened it today, but he thought it for the better.  It was simple in design, rather crude some might say.  The hilt had often been mistaken for bronze and many thought the blade’s steel was too dark.  Not even Ystin knew what it was made of.  It had been a gift from Artus the Bear King centuries ago.  Artus himself hadn’t known of it’s origin, just that it seemed right in Ystin’s hands.  It had never rusted or dulled, yet still Ystin cared for it as if it were made of iron or steel.  He would spend hours running the stone down it’s blade, checking for even the smallest imperfection.  He never found one but that didn’t stop him from trying.  The occasional merchant would mistake it for Excalibur when Ystin had explained where he got it.  Most thought some other thief from the last town had sold it to him with the story Ystin told and would either pity him or laugh at his foolishness.  With Ex around, those who laughed only did so briefly.  

Ystin wondered what the future held for them.  He had wandered the centuries alone for one goal, now he was free.  His oath had finally been fulfilled.  The hunger for adventure in his belly had been full.  Now what to do until the end of time.

Something shot out of the water, a shape, like a great tree, flew out of the waters, clear over the camp and blotting out the stars and came down, flattening a sand dune with thwump.  The horses reared in shock.  Ystin saw a figure climb out of the water.  It was Exoristos.  Her shoulder was pure red in the moonlight, blood poured onto the sand, she was stark naked save for the seaweed that clung to her, she was panting deeply and smiling like a devil.  Ystin looked at what had flown out of the sea.  A great red claw as tall as a house and moaned.  “Not crab again, Ex!”

 

The night grew dark and the two ate crab meat, and it was good.  Ystin sought to mend Exoristos’ wounds.  He wasted fresh water to wash off all the salt and grime of the sea and began stitching shark bites.  Exoristos roasted the meat, breaking pieces off for herself and Ystin.  Sir Ystin had once been as good with a needle as a drunken horse, time with Exoristos had made him a master.  

“Tell me, which is sweeter?” he asked, “Crab meat or victory?” 

Ex flinched when he stuck her with his needle.  “Is there any better than -GAH!”  Ystin handed her the blood covered sharktooth.  “What does it matter?  The Grail is safe, but letting your guard down is for lesser fighters.”  

“I doubt it’s safe,” said Ystin,  “There are always people trying to claim power beyond themselves.  It will only be a matter of time before someone or something comes looking for it.  And when they come, they will face me.”  

Exoristos gave a deep sigh.  “That is true.”  She hand feed him a offering of crab meat.  When he bit into its flesh, she kissed him, lightly, on the cheek.  “Then I suppose we should make the best of the time we have now.”  

Ystin gulped down the crab meat, “I suppose we shall.”  

Ex flinched as he began on another wound.  “What do you think happened to Vandal?” asked Exoristos.  

“If the gods are merciful, a giant died on top of him.  Knowing our luck, he’s halfway to somewhere foul.  He does know where the Grail is,” realized Ex, “while Al Jabr is clever, Savage’s reputation speaks for itself.”  She flinched again as the needle pinched her skin.  

“And when he comes back, I shall meet him,” answered Ystin.  

Exoristos chuckled, “Well someone’s got to do it, might as well be us.  I shall look forward to skewering that pig.”  

“As a knight, it is my duty to ensure justice is given, by command of the Bear King, I say ‘Kill the swine.’”  

“Aye, m’lord.”  

Ystin picked up a little stick propped up into the fire.  He held it, pointing the sizzling end at Ex.  “Now hold still this time.”  

Exoristos dug her nails into her arm as her skin hissed.  Ystin poured more water over her burns.  

“Tis done.”  

Exoristos felt her fingers over the burns.  For any mortal, these would have been permanent, but Amazons have more time to heal.  It was not the worst she had endured and she always wore such markings with pride.  She stood up and spun her shoulder around a few times.  “Good as new,” she said.  “Now who’s to take the first watch?”  

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Sir Ystin with a smirk, “I thought perhaps we could watch together.”  

Exoristos raised her brow with interest.  Ystin’s eyes made a quick dart at her exposed body.  “Oh!  Brave and honorable Sir Ystin, are you not the heroic knight who saved the town of Little Spring from the dreaded Questing Queen?”  

Ystin puffed out his chest, “It was I, lovely maiden!  As true as the sky is blue!  We met under the hot sun and fought and fought as armies clashed around us!”  

Exoristos bent over to meet his eyes.  “Is it not true that villain, evil wretched queen, swatted off your helm with a twack of her sword?”  

With a flick of her finger, Ystin’s helmet was knocked clean off his head.  “It was so, m’lady, but I was not afraid.”  

“Were you not scared when your scale failed up?”  Off came Ystin’s armor.  

“Me?  Why never!”  

“But why?”  

“For you see, before the Queen could strike that fatal blow, a warrior, as big and as strong as a mountain, leapt to my aid and drew the villain's blood!”  

“Who?”  

“I never saw her face, only that she wielded a hammer like Zeus does lightning!” 

“Oh but you see,” said Exoristos, “T’was I who struck the Questing Queen and yours whose life I own.”  

“For sooth?  Than how am I to repay you?”  

“Oh,” said Ex.  She cupped Ystin’s breasts.  “I can think of a few things.”  

Exoristos and Ystin both kept watch for the night, as the crackling of flames and roll of the waves played them music.


	8. Dreams of Things That Will and Were

Spread across Europe and Africa, the Demon Knights had gone their separate ways since the discovery of the Grail, but they all still slept under the same stars.  

On the coast of Northern Africa, facing the Mediterranean, Sir Ystin slept with Exoristos in their single tent.  He dreamed a harsh dream.

He dreamt that he was all alone in an empty white void.  He was naked, exposed and vulnerable.  It felt as if his insides had been ripped out. The pain kept burning.  His skin was exposed and soft.  Steam trailed from his body.  “Why had he done it?” he cried out, “Why?  Why?”  Tears burned his face.  He couldn’t stop crying.  He knew no one could love him.  He was worthless, more than worthless.  A great shadow loomed over him.  He looked up upon the Shining Knight.  He stood over him.  He was adorned in the armor he had been given.  His horned helm looking down and sword planted before him on the ground.  But it wasn’t him.  He couldn’t see the face but he knew because he wasn’t him.

Ystin found himself lying against the tree with the spear in his side.  He lay there in the field along the fallen soldiers of the land.  Merlin appeared before him as he always did.  He looked upon him with sorrow.  “All is lost, again,” he said, “but I must keep trying.  They must one day be beaten.  They must!  You interest me, young squire.  You have two natures.  I often know what I am going to do without knowing why I will do it.  Here, before I flee, share in the Grail.”  Merlin held the cup to Ystin’s lips.

Ystin woke in a cold sweat.  He was back on the beach with Exoristos.  He was back to where he belonged.  The second dream, the one with Merlin, he was familiar with.  But the other, was something else, something his memory had failed him on.  His body was weak and tired.  He couldn’t move on his own.  So,he went back to sleep crying and muttering to himself, “It’s not my fault.”

He felt great fingers brush through his hair.  “I know it’s not,” said Exoristos.

 

In a village in Germany, Sarah the Horsewoman slept.  She slept in the stables with Brickwedge.  It was a cold night and she couldn’t leave him here.  Her sleep began with the dream she always had, that old dream.  

She was small.  She was home, at her old home.  Her mama and papa’s home.  Home in the fields.  Her cottage all out here with her parents.  She walked outside, the cool grass licked at her feet.  Over the horizon, she could hear the thundering hooves It was here Papa would warn her again.  “Sarah!”, he always said, “Sarah, I know we told you not to use your way with the horses, but please, we need you to do it!”  The thundering was closer.  Her mother would now come running out of the house, unknowing of what was to come.  Out she came.  Sarah could only cry.  She reached out to them, but they wouldn’t stop.  They kept on running.  They wouldn’t stop.  Over the horizon they came.  Arrows and spears stuck from their sides.  They rode on in blind rage and madness.  Thier veins all swelling and popped.  These horses that trampled all in their path.  She couldn’t see mama and papa crushed.  She was knocked down into the cool grass before the one hoof came down on her spine.

It was then another dream began.  This one was new.  She stood on fields of red.  The sky was lined with veins and the air was thick and humid.  She could see an ocean of blood.  The waves went up and down like an ocean but it didn’t sound right.  She was surrounded by animals.  Great ones, small ones, from all corners and types.  They all came to her.  They lowered their heads to her.  They hailed her.  Others appeared alongside Sarah, peoples of all walks of life.  Townsfolk, warriors, maidens, children, witches, masons, they stood alongside her.  There was a pulse.  The ground and the sky shook with a pulse that beaten twice in a row.  Like a heart.  The people and the animals welcomed her.  They placed a crown of bones atop her head and sang in grunts and squeals.  They welcomed her as one of them.  They danced around her rejoicing.  Man and animal side by side in harmony.  For some reason, Sarah felt at peace.  The people and the creatures spoke, not with words but with primal sounds.  They did not speak with anger but with joy.  Joy that she was one of them.  She liked it with her crown of bones.  She wiped something from her face.  Blood.  Her eyes sockets began bleeding and red veins crawled up her arms.  The people and creatures all bleed like she did but kept on dancing.  They kept moving faster and faster, spiraling towards madness.  The squealing, the barking, the howling, the roaring, came crashing down on her like a waterfall.  She couldn’t bare to stand but faster and faster they went around and around.  Blood was pouring from her mouth.  She couldn’t take it anymore, she let loose a scream that pierced her lungs.

Sarah woke in the stables.  She lay in the stables made of lumber and matted with hay.  She took deep breaths.  It was over.  She felt her insides turning over and over.  “Sarah?” asked Brickwedge. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “Some terrible dream. Get back to sleep now, Brickwedge.”  Sarah closed her eyes again and went to sleep.

 

By the door of the barn and on the sands of the sea sat a prince.  His cape of flames draped over his pale shoulders and his fingers stirring the sands in his pouch.  His job was done but these two had made him curious.  He listened to their dreams.  He listened to Exoristos, and Al Jabr, and Xanadu, and Jason, and even Vandal Savage.  What their dreams held.  The squire dreamed of hopes he had once lost.  The mathematician dreamt of machines yet to build.  The warrior hoped that one day, she and Jason could truly understand each other.  “Such interesting dreams,” he thought with a palm full of sand.  “Dream of pleasant things, you ‘Demon Knights’ many hardships shall befall you with these times and you may lose your way.  So for now dream of pleasant things.”  The Prince of Dreams cast his sand upon their minds and with his chore now done, went on to others who were dreaming.


	9. Knights and Princesses

There was an old tower.  The tower stood out, high above the forest, all alone.  It had once been the castle of a grand kingdom, great legends were spoken of the castle whose name was lost to time.  They said this place had been “Camelot reborn,” where the people were gay, the harvests were grand, the trees were green, and the streams sang songs.  But that was a long time ago.  Now only the solitary tower remained.  It stood in the middle of a rotten forests where no green could grow.  The waters had dried up and the harvests as well.  It was just this lonely tower where Princess Sarum lived.  

Every day, Princess Sarum looked out the one window over the dead forest and felt very, very alone.  She did have company, of course.  The dragon that had snatched her from her home visited her every day.  He always brought with him wonderful gems or solid gold crowns. Her bedroom was lined with such gifts, across the floor and up the walls.  Wealth that could buy an empire, yet still she remained to herself. Every day he asked for the same thing; he asked for a kiss. She never spoke to him and she never kissed him.  It was better this way, she would think to herself.  All alone in this tower, away from the world.  

Her father and mother had gone out of their way to make her happy.  They had made her the finest dresses, they taught her in all sorts of sciences of the word and of the world, but it did not make her happy.  In the end, her happiness meant nothing to them.  They simply wanted a daughter to sell off to some prince to win his alliance.  She was nothing but a tool to them.  When the news came that she was to wed the neighboring Prince Bruce, she knew they had never cared for her desires.  They had fed her with petty desires like a farmer feeds a pig.  She had begged, day and night, to let them reconsider but they never budged.  Her mother explained that she had once felt the same about her father.  She thought he was a savage brute with not an ounce of decency but she had learned to love him.

Sarum could never do that, not for any prince.  She’d spend hours in her chambers and would burst into tears.  She didn’t know why but she couldn’t hold herself not to.  Her father had told her not to fear.  They would find a proper husband for her, but she knew it wouldn’t do.  When the dragon had snatched her away she put up no resistance.  She did not fear death anymore.  Not that she was in any danger.  The dragon was not scary.  He was petty and sad, but not to be feared.  She had seen winter come and go from her tower and still he asked what he asked every day.  Just for one kiss.  She never gave it to him.  He had promised to let her go for one peck on the cheek.  Sarum never gave it to him.  She wanted to stay here, up in her tower.  Here she was safe from the world outside.  She wouldn’t be sold like a prize ox to some man-boy with a crown.  Though she still cried, she was at peace here, overlooking the dead forest.

She then saw, far off, something filled her with dread.  Atop a far off hill stood a knight in shining armor.  The white eagle of Lord Albus shone off his bright shield.  She remembered the stories of Albus’s prince.  They said he was a titan of a man who could not be bested with a blade.  He must have spent months, possibly years to find her.  It was then that Sarum sank even lower.  She laid her head on the window and sobbed her lonely heart out.  That infernal prince was here to rescue her, to snatch her away from this tower and ride her back to a wedding dress, her father would approve of such a man.  It couldn’t end like this.  She called out for the dragon.  Her door bust open.  

“Yes?” he said with a slippery tongue. 

Sarum pointed out the knight and he said, “Well, thank you, Your Majesty, I guess I have an appointment with him.”  

He slammed the door behind him with his tail and slithered down the stairs.  As a captor, the dragon, she never bothered to know his name, was rather clumsy.  Sarum had devised plenty of ways to escape her prison.  Now that Albus’s son came riding to meet the pathetic beast, he would surely slay it and rescue her.  She shuddered at the thought.

Sarum took no hesitation.  She searched through the piles of golden treasure.  She threw aside gems, and goblets, and rings.  It was then she found the rope.  The dragon had brought it to her one day and said it once belonged to a wizard as he picked his teeth with a wand.  She had thought to test it out of curiosity.  

Next was the statue.  Another trophy placed before her was a great stone statue of some priest. She had no idea of who but the statue was always in her mind. It was massive, at least twenty times her weight.  It reached up towards the high ceiling and its raised hand cut right through the rafters.  

As Sarum begin pulling the rope around the figure, the rope grew to a convenient size.  She tied it off with a knot she knew for this sort of thing and threw the other end out the open window.  Next she uncovered a pair of gloves and boots from under all the loot.  She had found they clung to steep surfaces very well.  She was ignorant of magic, but could feel otherly power in them.  

Now equipped, she looked out the window and saw the rope resting all the way on the ground.  She gulped at the dizzying height but grabbed the line with both hands and flung herself out the window.

She was scared, truly terrified.  Though she had always thought of this way to escape, she had never tried it before.  It had been much easier to think about than do.  Her hands were sweaty already and she feared the boots would give out.  They stuck to the wall like glue, but slowly slipped their way downward.  She heard the dragon roar someplace far off, and the shouts of the prince.  No, she thought to herself, it was too late to go back.  With a weight resting in her stomach, she made her way down the high tower.  Hand over hand and foot over foot she descended.  The boots held firm and the gloves likewise.  

She tried not to listen to the battle going on.  The dragon roared with all its ferocity and the knight made bold claims.  “Princess Sarum is yours no more!” he shouted.  

Finally her feet touched solid ground just as the dragon was silenced by a terrible thwack.  The prince would be up the tower soon.  Sarum ran aimlessly into the dead woods.  She ran as fast as the boots would take her.

Muck seeped into her shoes as she ran.  The dead branches yanked at her hair and cut her arms.  Tears poured down her face.  She sobbed like all the other times, but now she felt as if a cold metal dagger was sinking deep into her heart.  She couldn’t go back, not to the dreary castle and her family.  She wouldn’t stand at the altar with some prince.  Though it was dismal to live as the dragon’s trophy, at least he was honest.  It didn’t matter who she was born to, a peasant or a king, what they wanted was the same.  They would lock her away in some tower with the rest of the prizes and she’d die.  She’d die an old hag, withered and hideous.  More likely, her husband would cast her aside for someone else.  That was all she could ever hope to be, equated to a damned portrait, placed so high no one could see her.  She fell in the mud and wailed again.  She screamed into the sky, flinging muck around, and mixing her tears with the filth.  Why did this have to be everything?  Why couldn’t she have her own life?  Why would she be the pleasing toy of some empty prince?  She just wanted to ball up and shrink away from this world.  Then she heard the hoofbeats.

She felt the pounding of the prince’s steed deep in her stomach.  She saw the ripples in the pools of mud.  The dragon was dead and he was coming for her.  She tried to run, but her dress was weighed down with muck.  Her feet were heavy and clumsy.  Her once golden hair hung in front of her face like a filthy black curtain.  

The prince was coming.  His horse was right behind her.  Why couldn’t she be left alone?  

“Go away!” she yelled, sobbing.  She picked up a muddy rock and flung it.  

She hadn’t looked and the rock flew directly at the armor clad prince.  His shield was ash-covered, his chainmail darkened, his plates covered in dragon’s blood.  The rock hit him dead on.  Sarum was rooted right there.  

The prince’s horse came to a panicked stop.  The prince’s helmet went flying into the mud.  It was then Sarum saw her face.

Her hair was cut like a boy’s, but it was a beautiful ruby brown.  Her face was cut and bruised but also kind and beautiful.  She looked  shocked that someone like Sarum had taken her by surprise.  “Princess Sarum?” she asked.

“Yes?” she replied.

“I am Princess Alba, first daughter of King Albus,” she said, “I’ve been searching for you for a long time.”  She dismounted from her horse.  “Are you alright?”

Sarum paused, “Y...yes...I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.  Please!  Forgiv-”

“That’s quite alright,” said Alba, “What’s important is that you’re safe.”  Alba touched her face, gently.  “We have been very worried about you.”

Sarum’s eyes darted to Princess Alba’s helmet in the mud.  “I’m so sorry!”  She darted for it.  She tried wiping away the grime.

Alba put her hand on her shoulder.  “It’s quite alright,” she said.  “Besides, you’re in a worse state.”  Sarum looked down; she was covered head to toe in mud.  “Let’s get out of here and wipe all this off.  I’ve heard enough stories to say you’re much more beautiful than this.  I know a good inn where you can get a nice bath.  It’s a bit run down, but it must be better than that tower of yours.”

Sarum was at a loss for words.  “My lady, why exactly did you come to save me?”

Alba smirked, “Truth be told.  No one else would.  Everyone else your father asked gave up months ago.  They thought you were dead.”

“But why do you dress in armor?” asked Sarum.

“Oh,” said Alba, “well, my father wanted an heir.  The only problem is that all six of his children came out girls.  So one day he said, ‘Oh to hell with this.  Alba!  Come along, you’re going to be a prince!’  Well, at least for formal things.  Now come on, the day is leaving us!”  

Alba held out her hands to help Sarum onto her horse.  

Sarum swung onto the beast and nearly fell off.  “Easy does it,” said Alba. Alba took the horse’s reins and walked her out of the swamp.

 


	10. Getting Diractions

“Lord Savage?” asked the boy, “Lord Savage?”

“Blasted boy!” roared Vandal, “What do you want?”  In his anger, he lifted his bed stand up with one arm and threw it across the room, shattering to pieces.

“M...m….My Lord, Benedict IX has arranged a meeting with you and his finest fighters.” the servant boy peeped.

“Meeting?” shouted Savage,  “It’s barely morning!  Does that little glob of pig lard expect me to see these people before my damned breakfast?”

“My lord,” said the girl as she stroked his chest, “Please calm your temper.”   
“Oh, don’t you dare start with that, woman!” said Vandal, “I need my sleep!”

“But sire,” said the boy, “It’s early evening.”

“What?” roared Vandal, “Evening?”

“You were rather energetic,” said the other girl from beneath the covers.

“I suppose so.  Well, I was weathered from that long walk all the way from Spain.  You!  Little servant boy!  Fetch me some clothes, my ladies and I demand breakfast!” said Vandal.

The boy squeaked up, “But my lord…”

“Shut your useless mouth you worm!  Fetch me a robe and have the cooks begin making my breakfast!  Now!”  The servant boy darted out of the room just before Vandal grabbed the portrait above the bed and threw it at the door.  “Damn useless,” he said.  He had been having the most lovely dream.  He had the servants dress him and breakfast was made.  Vandal ripped the food apart.  He had been starving for weeks and the best food he had gotten was that pathetic child’s finger.  Finally he had something worth eating.

He was then ready for business.  But before that, he asked to see Haroldus.  One of the servants directed him to the ward.  There Vandal found him laid out on a bed.  His shoulder was covered in horrid black bandages.  There was a bowl full of blood next to his bed and Haroldus’ mouth was dark red.  The poor man didn’t seem to have caught a second of sleep.  Instead the poor man had been going in and out of consciousness all day.  His eyes were heavy and he was taking in long weary breaths.  “Wake up,” said Vandal and he smacked him in the face.  

Haroldus moaned and tried to turn to face him.  

“Hello captain!  How have you been?”  

More moaning.  

“On the up and up I see.  That’s good.”  Vandal pulled some crumbs out of his beard when he brushed it.  “I suppose you should consider yourself lucky that you caught me in such a good mood.  I didn’t really mean to lash out at you the other day.  I walked damn near a thousand miles!  I hope you can understand.”  

Haroldus’ moaning became more urgent.  

“Oh thank you!  You’re too kind!  It’s just I’ve spent a long time on this Earth, and often I don’t have enough time to slow down for others.  But just let me leave this as reminder,”  with that Vandal twisted Haroldus’ large toe completely around. The bone straining was wonderful and climax with a brittle snap, “that if you get in my way, you’ll be squashed like the bug you are.”  He left the ward with the pleasant screaming in his ears.

Vandal made his way to the courtyard.  It was there that he found five fighters standing at attention.  They all stood there like pillars.  Thier armors were all very different, but they wore white with the red cross. Benedict was there as well, looking out of the corner of his eye lest Savage appear from some shadow.  “So this is all you have to offer me, dear grandson?  Five measly soldiers?” he asked.

Benedict nearly collapsed with fright.  “Oh no sire!” he said.  He was barely able to force out words. “These five are by far the greatest fighters in all of Europe.  They have been collected and raised by the church as my iron strong guard.  You’ll find them most effective!”  He held back tears as he smiled.  Vandal’s lesson had done him some good.  

“The Demon Knights held back an entire army.  You think these five could possibly best them?” said Vandal.  “I ask for an army, and I expect one!  I will not except such insubordination!  I shall…”

“You shall do nothing, Vandal Savage,” spoke one of the soldiers.

Savage looked at him with wide eyes.  “And who might you be, oh bold sir knight?”  Benedict backed away from the lot of them.

The one who had spoken stood in the center of the line. He wore a fine spangenhelm and bright chainmail that stood out even in darkness.  His armor was like that of Haroldus’ but much better.  He was a young man, but of healthy build and he glared into Vandal’s eyes with his own of fire.  “I am Sir Romulus, Captain of the Four Corners, and devote sword of his Lordship, Pope Benedict IX, you will cease to intimidate our lord.”  His hand was on his hilt.

“Well I’ll give you one thing, Benedict,” said Savage, “They’re a brave lot.”  He turned to Romulus.  “Tell me sir knight, who are these men you captain?”

Sir Romulus direct towards the farthest on his left, “She is Lady Kochi, her father was a samurai knight from the Orient.  She has served with the church faithfully.  There are none superior to her sword for it moves like the wind.  She is the Storm of the East.”  

Romulus pointed to the next.  “This is Sir Janub.  He is a great warrior from the Dominion of Saladin.  He may be old, but he wields a mace that can crack the ground.  He is the rock of the South.”  

“I have heard much about you, Lord Savage,” said Janub,  “from what little time you’ve spent here it seems much of it is true.”

Romulus pointed to the knight on his right.  “This is Sir Zephyrus.  He is the young, but he is no match for anyone with a bow.  His arrows not only pierce their armor, but burn them from the inside out.  He is the Flame of the West.”  He pointed to the last on his right, “And this is Lady Nordroni.  She was born of a long line of brave knights of Danes.  She is large and bulky in size and shape, but she as swift as a current and her spear never misses.  She is the Sea of the North.  With myself as their captain, we are the Four Corners!”  

At that, they knelt with their weapons held out.  “By the command of God, we are at your service!” they all chanted.

Vandal Savage began clapping.  “Well spoken sir knight, very good with the theatrics.  A group of knights from across the far ends of the Earth?  I like this group already.  There is one question I have though.  Why are the four corners when you are named after the flat sides of a map?”

“Why are these people we’re after called Demon Knights if none of them are such?” asked Sir Janub.

“Good point and silence,” replied Vandal, “Your order’s name is far too dull for me.  How about The Compass Roses?”

“But Lord Savage,” said Romulus, “That is not our order’s name.”

“Benedict?” asked Vandal in a sing-songy voice.

“I hereby name you The Compass Roses!” blurted out the Pope.

“Very good,” said Vandal, “Now get some sleep, Roses.  Tomorrow we ride for Al Wadi, to reclaim the Holy Grail like knights of old!”  The Roses departed for their quarters.  They were a small bunch, but they did seem capable.  Probably for the best Vandal thought.  Al Jabr was a clever one and easily dealt with an army of giants.  He wondered if a smaller group inside his walls would fair better.  Vandal saw Benedict IX trying to waddle off without him noticing.  “Oh dear grandson of mine?” he called.  Benedict froze solid.  He nearly went to pieces when Vandal slapped him on the shoulder.  “I want to thank you for your great gift to your dear grandfather.   It means so much to me.”

“I….I….Anything to please you….grandfather,” said Benedict.  “They should serve you well.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” Vandal pinched the fat oaf on his lardy chin.  He grinned as Benedict knees knocked together.  “Now go make yourself useful and have some food brought up to my quarters.  The shriveling boy ran off to the kitchen before his next breath.  Vandal let loose a boisterous laugh.  Today had been a good day!  

He made his way back up to his bedroom.  The girls were still waiting there for him.  “All is well, Lord Savage?” one asked.

“Quite well!” he replied.  “That stubborn old fool, Jabr is going to learn what happens when he crosses me.  Now off with those robes, I feel like celebrating.”

“Shouldn’t you get your rest for your journey ahead, Lord Savage?” asked the other.

“Shush yourself, woman!” said Vandal, “Besides, if I am tired, I’ll have those knights march circles around the seven hills.”  The servant boy knocked on the door and had with him a pallet of steaming succulent meat.  “Boy, go find me another woman or two.  Tonight is a good night, for Vandal Savage, future master of humanity!”

So Vandal enjoyed the fruits of life in the castle built on his lies and crimes.  In the morning, the newly named Compass Roses awoke with the instructions to march around the hills of Rome until night fall.  A pity for them as when they were a hundred paces out of the castle, they noticed the first drops of rain. 


	11. Promises Broken

Thirty years ago, Jason and Xanadu rested in their room in Alba Sarum.  “Don’t move, Xan,” said Jason.  He wrapped another round of course of bandage around her arm.  Her skin from the elbows out were burnt black.  Her delicate fingers had turned to charcoal.  “What in God’s name did you do this time?” he asked.

“Another summoning,” said Xanadu.  “Every time I reach out to for the Grail, something lashes back.  Whatever Merlin placed upon that cup is strong.”  She winced.  “Damn strong.”

“Where is that blasted wizard when you need him?” said Jason.  “The moment we find him, he runs off into Avalon.  Princess Alba says he promised to raise Camelot for them.  Lot of good his words do.”

“Yes Jason, and there’s the princesses,” said Xanadu.  She stopped.  Sobbing seeped in through the walls.  “Forever as princesses.  Poor souls.”

“I have to ask,” said Jason.  He went for another roll of bandages.  “Why still trust Merlin’s judgement?”

“Merlin does many things that not even he can explain.  He does some unsavory things, but his is no monster,” said Xanadu.

“No, only the son of one,” replied Jason.  “There, that’s about it.”  Xanadu could barely move her arms under the bandages and the burns still stung.  Jason held her.  “We’ve done everything we can for the Alba and Sarum.  Perhaps we should move on.”

“No,” said Xanadu, “We can still do our best to comfort them.”

Jason and Xanadu spent a week more in Alba Sarum.  While Alba held her feelings behind her stone visage, they could see the cracks.  Sarum on the other hand wept on for days.  She refused to see any of her servants and her crying echoed through the halls.  They did all they could for the princesses, but eventually they had to leave Alba Sarum.  So they left with a pair of heavy hearts.

 

Not going back to Alba Sarum was something that had dreaded Al Jabr for thirty long years.    Perhaps it was shame, but unlike Jason and Xanadu, he never returned.  He always hated a bit of himself for that but he couldn’t bring himself to return.  It might have been the magic.  Al Jabr couldn’t understand it.  The princesses’ city was build on incantations and spells.  Odd since neither Alba or Sarum were known users. Magic was a fool’s investment as Al Jabr worked on his machines.

“Careful with that mixture Hazm!” he said, “You’re too generous with it.”

“I am sorry father, but isn’t this what you specified?” he asked.  Hazm was a young man.  He was of healthy build and bore the stern brow of his father.  Unfortunately, that is where the similarities ended.

“No!  No!  Too much pepper and the bag won’t detonate,” said Al Jabr.  “We’ve been over this.”

“Forgive me,” Hazm said.  

Over time, Al Jabr’s hands had grown far too feeble, so he had to rely on others.  Sadly, Hazm’s were more accustomed to a pen than tools.  “Nevermind,” said Al Jabr, “You’ve done enough for today.  Go back to your scrolls.”  Hazm rolled his chair up with some hesitation and then left the study.  When the he closed the doors, Al Jabr smacked the bag to the ground.  “Damn my age.”  He grabbed his cane and walked out after him.  “Did you see where my son went?” he asked the guard to his study.

“He went off to the library, my lord,” the guard walked before him.

“Please, I’d rather do this alone,” said Al Jabr.  The old man made his way through the halls of Al Wadi.  He had taken this city from a self centered warmonger.  This cursed palace was built to match his ego.  Just a large over-built behemoth with no use for it except to fill it with servant girls.  He shuddered remembering what the observatory used to be.

He finally reached the library.  A good use of the sauna if there ever was.  There were book shelves as tall as houses.  Scrolls and books were stacked high and poured out onto the floor.  “Hazm?  Oh, where are you?”

Hazm was rested up upon one of the shelves.  His legs hung over the great ladders that could not move down the rows thanks to the papers nor could be scaled by Al Jabr.  His nose was buried deep in a book.  He said nothing.

“Hazm, please, I am sorry,” said Al Jabr “I did not mean that.  Come on down, we’ll talk this over.”

“Why do you never tell me?” asked Hazm.  He did not look up from his book.

Al Jabr moaned, “Not the blasted Demon Knights again!”

Hazm slammed his book down.  “You never tell me anything about them!”

“It was a long time ago!” said Al Jabr, “Most of them were just low-lives, particularly that Jason and especially Savage.  They think nothing of the lives they destroy!”

“But they are something right out of legend!” said Hazm.  “They’re heroes out of a story book and you pass them off like a group of pickpockets.  I just want to know what type of adventures you had!”

“The adventures I had…” Al Jabr paused and stroked his long beard.  He sighed, “Curse you, boy.  I am sorry I do not care for your stories of dragons and heroes.  I suppose I am a more bitter fool than I thought.  If you come down, I swear I shall tell you all that transpired.”   
“Even meeting King Arthur?” said Hazm.

“I seriously doubt there ever was such a man, but I shall tell you the one I encountered,” said Al Jabr.  “Now come off down that bookshelf, you look like a child!”  Hazm smiled and swung down onto a seat that hung next to the shelf.  It was specially designed for him by his father.  It allowed him to get up to the top shelves with a pulley system.  He lowered himself down, handover hand until he sat down in his chair..  Just as that moment, the library doors opened again.

“Father, I’m amazed to find you out of your study.  What new monsters are at our walls?” said Hadija.

“Bonding,” he answered.  “Your brother may be a half decent diplomat yet.  I am very glad you’re here though.  I recently received a message from Themyscira.  They shall except you as an envoy.”

“An envoy?” said Hadija in surprise.  “When did this happen?”

“Well it took me some talking over a few days, but I finally convinced Queen Hippolyta to accept you as the first ambassador from the outside world!”

“I...I...I…” she stammered.

“Is not this what you always wanted?  To go out and see the world?” he asked.

“Well, yes, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be an island without any….men,” she said.

“Well there is the added benefit of you being surrounded by the finest warriors on Earth, if hyperbole is to be believed,” said Al Jabr, “and it is a perfect chance for you to get some real expertise.”

“You’d never send Hazm off to some remote part of the world!” said Hadija.

“If I opened up all the walls in Al Wadi, I’d still find your brother in this dusty library with another poem,” said Al Jabr.

“Hey!” said Hazm, “That’s not true!”

“Agreed,” said Hadija.  “He stole one of the air balloons to see the giants and their cannon!”

“You did what?” said Al Jabr.  His wrinkly old face glaring at Hazm.

“I did.   I broke your promise and I have no regrets,” he replied.  “Even if I that one tried to eat me.  I had to know what they were like!”

Al Jabr groaned, “Over 200 guards and they can’t keep my son in his room.  Why do I even bother?  Hadija, we’ll talk about your travel arrangements.  And you!” he glared at Hazm, “Don’t think you’re getting away with this one!”  Al Jabr stomped his cane on the floor and lead his daughter out of the library.  They went out, onto the outer walls of the palace.  There they could look over all the houses of Al Wadi.  The sprawling city that stretched out to the shore.  “Hadija, I know I am asking much of you.  You’ll be sailing across the Mediterranean to a place where everything you know is likely useless.  But I wouldn’t send anyone else.  You are smart, beautiful, and have a wit sharper than any sword.  I wouldn’t risk this being handled by anyone else than you, because I know you can do it.”

“But why do it?” asked Hadija, “What do the Amazons have to offer us?”

Al Jabr, stroked her precious face, how easy it was for him to forget.  “I have seen the darkness that lurks far out beyond these walls.  I know the monsters that dwell in it, in all shapes, including men’s.  I know you wish to see this world, for it is a wonderful one, but it is also dangerous.  That is why I am sending you to Themyscira.  With a friendship with them, we can do something about these monsters.  And while you are there, you can learn how to become a true warrior.”

“I’m perfectly good right now, I’d say,” said Hadija.

Al Jabr wanted to hold himself back, “You must know by now that I don’t have much time in this world left.  I seal myself away in my study because there are so many things yet to discover.  But I know I must give my title over to your brother, and though he is wise and kind, he is light hearted and far too distracted from politics by fantasy.  That is why I need you, to stand when Hazm cannot.  Hazm shall be made caliph for the people’s sake, but you shall both own the right to rule.”  He looked out along the city streets.  “I know I may seem cruel at times, but I only do this to secure your birthright.”

Hadija glared at him.  “I hate it when you talk your way out of these things.”

“Will you do this?” Al Jabr said, “For me, your brother, and the city?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I shall.”

A guard came in.  “Forgive me for interrupting my caliph, but you gave explicit orders.”  He handed him a letter.  It was something of extravagant beauty, the paper was as white as the moon and smelled of fresh perfume.  The seal was of a eagle and and owl, talons interlocked.

Al Jabr took it, “Thank you, leave us.”  The guard did as he said.  Al Jabr struggled with his frail old hands as he cut open the seal.  The cold air froze his fingers.

“What is that, father?” asked Hadija.

Al Jabr quickly scanned over the contents.  “It’s a letter from Alba Sarum, my dear,” he said.  “It looks like I’ve just been invited to a wedding.”  A small smile came across his face.  “I suppose there are a few things and old fool like me can fix after all.”


	12. The Guest List

Sarah walked into the dusty trader’s store. She went up to the store keep and handed him her bag. “How much will these fetch?” she asked. The store keep opened the bag and counted nine hares, all freshly dead.  
The store keep scratched his bald head. “Um, well now,” he said, “these here are some prize hares, missy. I’d think they’d go for about twenty-three.”  
Sarah looked up from a small collection of roots, “Twenty-three?” she declared. “I could go down the road and get forty. Where do you come off trying to cheat me?”  
“Well, you see the legs on this one?” asked the store keep. He held up a hare for her. “You done damaged it, poor thing. The meat’s not right.”  
“I shot it through the head,” said the Horsewoman. She pointed out the puncture in the skull. “If you really think you can pull a fast one on me, you are greatly mistaken.”  
The store keep leaned forward,“Twenty-three is all I’ll pay for.”  
“Then get your hands off my wares,” said Sarah as she snatched the rabbit back in the bag and left. “Damn German merchants,” she muttered to herself. She walked outside into the stench-filled air of the town. “Come on, Brickwedge,” she thought, “Let’s get out of this dung hole.” It was then that she noticed the falcon mounted on Brickwedge’s head.  
“Sarah?” asked Brickwedge with a tinge of fear. The falcon was like a statue, it glared into the Horsewoman’s eyes with its own dark empty ones. “I don’t know what it wants but I think we should give in to its demands. Maybe you stole its dinner! Please, give it back!” It was then that the falcon leaned forward, it held out an envelope in its beak. The Horsewoman took it with hesitation. The falcon then took off.  
“That’s a well trained bird,” said Sarah.  
“What evil sorcerer could have sent such a maleficent creature?” asked Brickwedge. “Don’t open it, lest it put a spell on you!”  
Sarah just looked into his eyes and undid the seal with a swipe of her finger. “I think we’ll be alright,” she said. She opened the envelope. It was a finely written letter with a scent of perfume that stood out even in this place. “Well that’s interesting,” she said. “It looks like we are invited to a wedding.”  
“Whose?” asked Brickwedge.  
The Horsewoman looked at the names at the bottom. Part confusion and another part fear of what it implied, “The marriage of Princess Alba and Princess Sarum.”

“A wedding?” proclaimed Exoristos. She and Sir Ystin gazed baffled at the paper. “This doesn’t seem right. I thought the princesses had sworn an oath that they would only wed when they had risen new Camelot.”  
“Agreed,” said Ystin.  
“You don’t think Al Jabr…” she said.  
“What do you mean?” asked Ystin.  
Exoristos stammered.  
“You think he would take the grail from his keep and risk losing it? Ex, where is your trust in people.”  
“I wouldn’t suspect him right away,” she said, “Simply if the princesses have kept their vow this long. I think the Grail would be the only thing that would change this.”  
Ystin paused. He was a trusting sort, and he knew Al Jabr to be a good man. Why he would risk doing this was beyond him. “Well whatever is happening, there is only one way to find out.” He drew his sword and pointed it north, “We must head to Alba Sarum!”  
“Great, now we get to back the way we came,” said Exoristos. She began packing up their things.

Something similar was happening up in France with Jason and Xanadu. All three parties were confused. Only a fortnight had passed since they had defended the walls of Al Wadi from an army of giants and secured the holy grail. However, the grail was incredibly powerful, it served to accelerate rejuvenation. Its mere presence nearly cause a forest to envelop Al Jabr’s reception hall. Therefore, it had been stored away with a black diamond that served as a conduit of evil within the hearts of men. To move the grail was to move the diamond as well. Something else the heroes feared. So with nothing else to go on, the Demon Knights all began their ways to Alba Sarum. Except for one, Vandal Savage. He and his knights, the Compass Roses, were making their way to Al Wadi.

“Oh, don’t be so dull, Romulus, tis a good story!” said Vandal.  
Romulus channeled his feelings into his reins which he threatened to tear in two. “I see no humor in crucifixion.”  
“It’s just I never understood why in the world you lot decided to adopt that as your sign. it’s equivalent to a sword or in many cases my foot, but don’t see those now do you? I mean, I’ve been crucified myself, it happened when I had a little too much from the temple of Bacchus and emptied myself upon the Senate floor. Just my luck they were in session. I believe two of them passed out from my stench. And keep in mind, they washed their clothes with urine. Anyway, I spend a several weeks up there in the damned hot sun. Birds pecked at me and excreted on me. And don’t get me started on what the children said!”  
“I wish you hadn’t started to begin with,” said Romulus.  
“Anyway, I was passed out and on the verge of death when they took me down. I was going to die within the next hour or two I bet. When do you know who just happened to come along?” Vandal waited for him to ask and got nothing. “Some damn thief ready to pry my teeth out and sell them for whatever reason. And it just so happened he was a descendent of mine! I mean what are the odds!” Vandal burst into thunderous laughter for everyone to hear. “And so I ate the little bastard right then and there. Delicious too, thought I’m rather certain it was the week long starvation that made that scrawny manboy worth eating. I mean wouldn’t you say my luck marks me as a blessed man Romulus?” said Vandal.  
Romulus tugged on his reins and moved farther up the road. He came up along side Janub.  
Janub gave him a look to show his sympathy and disgust. “I’d say all the myths about him really are true.”  
“I cannot believe such a creature would be allowed within our walls,” said Romulus. “He’s a monster, nothing but.”  
Janub agreed, though unlike Romulus, he wasn’t as naive. Janub was a man from Egypt, where he had spent most of his youth. When he was of a good age, he had taken off to travel the world and found that the Vatican payed good money for his services. His hard work had earned him a title and his own estate in the countryside and he liked it very much. He cared very little for nationalities and customs and likely shared several of Vandal’s opinions on Christians but didn’t bother to speak them. He may been only a glorified sellsword but it didn’t mean he was without his dignity, dignity he felt wearing thin with Vandal nearby. Janub simply said, “Much can be said of many men.” His bit having been said, he decided now would be a good time to practice his finger work. He undid one of his parcels and withdrew his lute and began to play to himself.  
With Romulus no longer to entertain him, Vandal fell back a little farther to where he Zephyrus and Kochi. After only five minutes, they went up to join Romulus and Janub and so the process started all over again. The only person who was given any peace from the likes of Vandal was Nordroni. She rode far far back behind everyone and never said a word.

Meanwhile, in the pits of Hell, Etrigan was unaware in Jason and Xanadu’s change of course and sat in his stolen throne to be entertained by Claudia and Father Theod. Both of them failed to amuse him today though as his curiosity was towards his own invitation. It was to a banquet within the demon house of Fy’gpath. Etrigan knew very little of this house. They ruled over a group of tribes but they were not large enough to gather his full attention. Why in all the circles they would invite him, the jester of the Inferno, was baffling.  
“Claudia,” he asked, “Do you know anything of the royal house Fy’gpath?”  
“Not much, master,” said Claudia, “I have heard that they are have a good knowledge of magic that sometimes even Lucifer will ask for a spell every decade or so. I’ve also heard they have traded many of their victims away for talented mages and witches and have treated them well.”  
“I see,” said Etrigan. This was most baffling. This had been the first in a long time that any demon in Hell had given him any comradery. “I suppose it would be rude to not attend.”  
“Rude!” shouted a soul splayed out on a rack. “You are honestly talking about being rude?”  
“You must be new here,” remarked Etrigan. “Of course it would be. I should probably think of something to wear. I haven’t been to a formal get-together in centuries! Theod, let’s have a look at my suits of armor, I have to look my best!”


	13. Partings and Meetings

Hadija’s things had all been gathered up and piled upon the dock. The morning dew was settling and she felt quite cool under all her robes. She let her servants grab a few more minutes of sweet sleep. Nuzha was the only one there with her and asked her to sleep. The old woman still liked to mother her. Hadija just looked out onto the mist laden sea. She had always dreamed of traveling far off beyond the walls of home. As she had gone over and made machines by her father’s side, she dreamed of places like Egypt and Constantinople, and France, places so far away and exotic. Now that she had to put all of her things, all of her life in some bags and sail off for several years, she wondered if her dreams had been a bit too far.  
It was then, from out of the mist arrived a boat, a trireme, like out of a book. She had built one once when she was only six. It was something of beauty, the wood was all fine cut and the bow had piercing eyes that made her tremble. Nuzha went about waking up the servants. They scampered around getting the dock organized. A row of ship hands stood ready to receive the lines of the vessel. The dock shuck when ropes as thick as trees crashed down. The dockhands all scattered. One man jumped into the harbor. Hadjia still couldn’t see the people on the ship’s deck through the mist.  
Down came a gangway and a troop of Amazons. Hadija had only seen a glance of General Philipus when she had stayed, now she had a much better picture. These were women made like old Roman statues. Their muscles were made of stone. They were all adorned in leather armor, Greek helms, and had a sword at their hip and a spear in their hand. The Amazons towered over the men at least a solid foot, though the men felt much smaller as they scurried away. They stepped down onto the dock and saw to the ship’s lines. They tied their great ship down with ease. When everything was squared, they formed two rows from the gangway. When they stood side by side, they looked like stone walls of a stronghold. In perfect tune, they crossed spears with the Amazon across from them.  
The closest to Hadija spoke, “Presenting Philipus, General of Queen Hippolyta, soldier of Themyscira.”  
A loud thud came from the mist. Then another. Then another. Towering above the rest of the Amazons, General Philipus came forth from the fog. She walked like she was made of metal, perfectly formed and moved without hesitation nor haste. She moved with perfect control, not a single awkward flince of spasm. When she set foot on the dock, the sun pierced through the morning dew and cast its rays upon her armor. She was dressed in gold that shone like the sun itself. On her wrists, all their wrists actually, were a pair of bulky bracelets. The sides of her helm were decorated with the image of shackled women breaking the chains of bondage. These women were empowered by the rays of sunlight cast upon the helm which all converged at the forehead. On the brow stood five women, Hadjia had only taken a quick review of the Greek pantheon for this trip and she recognized them. To the right was Demeter of the harvest, nest to her was Artemis of knowledge, to the far left was Artemis of the hunt, next was Aphrodite of passion, and front and center was Hera, the goddess of women. She stopped right before Hadjia, gazing down like she would an ant. Then she asked in a soft voice, “Are you Princess Hadjia?”  
Hadjia’s jaw bounced up and down for a few seconds until she gathered herself, “Yes, I am her, I am to speak for my father, Caliph Al Jabr and the city of Al Wadi. This is my maiden, Nuzha.”  
Nuzha’s face turned to pure terror as she was pointed out to Philipus.  
“The honor is mine,”said Philipus as she held out her massive hand.  
Hadjia, bound between manners and fear, shook her hand. Surprisingly, her hand shake was like holding a feather.  
“Are these your things?” she asked, pointing to Hadjia’s bags. Hadjia could barely muster a response before the rows of Amazons broke and began lifting them up and taking them up the gangway. “It is a great pleasure to have someone as yourself on board. Please, if there is anything not to your liking, let me know and I shall have it dealt with personally. Is there anything you wish to see to before we depart?”  
“Wait!,” came a voice. Hadjia heard her father’s cane whacking its way down the dock as he limped his way to her. “Wait!” he said again. He nearly collapsed onto Nuzha. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye!”  
“You already did, father,” said Hadjia.  
“I know, I know, but a proper one my dear,” said Al Jabr. He took his daughter’s hand. He remembered the last time he held it, it was much smaller. “Hadjia,” he said, “I want you to know that I am proud of you. You have learned so much and been the type of daughter I could have dreamed of. I know I’ve kept you cramped up within these walls, and now it’s time for you to go out and see the world. I only want you to know that while I may be far away, you shall always be in my thoughts.” He stood up on his toes and kissed her on the head. “May the wind fill your sails.” A tear crept its way from the old fool’s eye.  
“Thank you father,” said Hadjia, “I shall always think of you as well.” She hugged the brittle old man.  
Philipus stood in silence doing best not to judge.   
When all was dealt with, the Amazons undid the massive lines. The ship lurched to life as the sailors took the oars. They sung an old song unfamiliar to Hadjia as they rowed in unhuman unison. Hadjia stood on the deck as the dock faded away, then the harbor, and last the cityscape of Al Wadi. Philipus came to her.  
“Would you like to see your quarters now?” she asked.  
Philipus took her down below and revealed Hadjia’s room. It was small, but likely the closest thing these Amazons had to comfort in such an outdated vessel. It had been prepared well.  
“Your maiden’s quarters will be right down the hall,” said Philipus, “Your bags are safely stored below, if you have need for anything, I shall send one of my women to get it for you. I apologize if my women are unfamiliar with your language. We try to remain current on the tongue’s of Man’s World, but we rarely use them.”  
“Thank you,” said Hadjia, “But that is quite understandable.” Philipus left her and Hadjia stood alone in her small quarters. She noticed a small latch above her bed. It was a porthole. She lifted the heavy wood and a gust of sea breeze came it. It was salty like the docks, but far more intense than she had ever known. Hadjia looked out upon the vast sea. “Welcome to the world,” she thought to herself.

Elsewhere, in France, Jason and Xanadu had just woken. They had received their invitation to Alba and Sarum’s wedding and were making way to their castle on the shore of the English channel. They had acquired a pair of horses to arrive sooner than on foot. Xanadu had stressed urgency that they make it to Alba Sarum as quick as possible.  
“Intriguing,” said Jason. He had recently found a scroll that retold of the Second Punic War, specifically Hannibal’s campaign through Italy. He had taken to it quickly and admired Hannibal’s cunning. He only wished the author hadn’t been a Roman and clearly skewed the general’s feats to seem like dumb luck and plotting with Africanus.  
“You’ve been saying ‘Intriguing’ for the last ten miles,” said Xanadu, “Could you either tell me what’s going on or be intrigued in silence.”  
“You just refuse to be enlightened by the greats, Xan,” replied Jason.  
“Didn’t you say this scribe made his living shoveling horse-”  
“That’s beside the point,” said Jason, “The man wrote about Hannibal, the man who crossed the Alps on elephants.”  
“I’d rather have some damned quiet,” said Xanadu. “I tried projecting around the planes to find Merlin and my mind feels like I left it in a couple of them. Now please, be intrigued in silence!”  
As fast as the wind, an arrow snatched Jason’s scroll and impaled it upon a tree. “Thieves!” said Xanadu. She whipped at the reins, “Let’s move!” Their horses stayed still. “Move!” she yanked at the reins. They stayed still.  
“By god, you two have the most needless drama,” said the Horsewoman as she pulled the arrow out of the tree. “Hello Xanadu, Jason, how have you both been?”  
“Enjoying some peace and tranquility for all but few weeks that lasted, as expected,” said Xanadu. “Maybe one of these days I can actually have a hobby that excludes near death experiences.”  
“You ruined my scroll!” said Jason.  
“Oh hush, I did no such thing,” replied Sarah.  
She threw Jason the scroll. To his astonishment, her arrow had missed every single line of text.  
“So, I assume you both were heading this way towards Alba Sarum?” said the Horsewoman.  
“Indeed,” said Xanadu, “I must say this wedding concerns me. If the princesses intend to wed, after over three decades, it would mean they must have the Holy Grail, meaning Al Jabr-”  
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said the Horsewoman, “No offense to Al Jabr but he really doesn’t seem to be one who believes in prophecies as much as you would.”  
“Exactly,” said Xanadu, “And the only way to be sure is to see for ourselves.”  
“Then we should hurry towards Alba Sarum,” said Jason.  
So the Horsewoman and Brickwedge joined their party on the road as they made their way to northern France and Alba Sarum.

The same day that Princess Hadjia left the walls of Al Wadi, a boat arrived from across the Mediterranean baring strange passengers, Sir Ystin and Exoristos. They had made their way back down the African coast and finally back to Spain. The sailors, hailing from Germany, thought it bad luck to carry women and so at first denied Exoristos and mistakenly Ystin passage. Fortunately Ystin had changed their minds. To told them great stories of his adventures as added payment to their toll and a chance to glance upon his pegasus, Vanguard. Exoristos didn’t approve of him stooping so low when she could have easily forced their hand, but Ystin had convinced her. They had made quick time across the Mediterranean and by the end, the ship hands were good friends of Ystin though Exoristos had prefered to stay below deck in their cabin for the duration. They were now making their way towards Al Jabr’s castle as they had learned he had yet to leave for Alba Sarum.  
“I still cannot believe you would let those arrogant swine off so easily,” said Exoristos. “They berated the both of us and you think it best to play cards with them.”  
“For once, I’d like to not beat our enemies down to solve a problem or two,” said Ystin.  
“And how much did you lose in all those card games?” she asked.  
“Who said I lost?” replied Ystin, “I gained their friendship which is more valuable than coins.”  
“Eighty six is the correct number I believe,” said Exoristos.  
Ystin spotted a guard. “Oh excuse me sir!” he said, “We are Sir Ystin and Exoristos, we are friends of the Caliph and were hoping to meet with him!”  
The two were brought into the palace, fortunately plenty of the people recognized them when they had been in Al Wadi before. They were handed off from guard to guard as they walked deeper into the great palace.Exoristos and Ystin had never much of a chance to see the palace before, they had been brought in in chains due to some miscommunication last time. As they walked in, they fought a current of servants walking out with bags and trunks. They seemed to be preparing some great caravan for the journey to Alba Sarum.  
When they passed the front doors of the palace, they were awestruck by great scale of the entry hall. It was a great domed room with a mosaic upon the floors and ceilings of mighty gears and in the center of what Al Jabr called “the clockwork” was the sun, the burning inferno of the universe. Al Jabr’s home was truly grand. There were great dining halls, and spitting fountains, and great rooms filled with inventions, and even a garden housed in glass. For what purpose that served they had no idea, but to build such a thing was beyond them. Finally, they were brought what small portion they did recognize, the lean towering doors to Al Jabr’s study. There was a bench against the wall that had been rounded by many years of backsides. The guard told them the caliph would be with them shortly. An hour later, they wondered if he had been telling the truth.  
The long silence was finally split by horrid sound of rusty metal. Ex and Ystin looked towards the study doors, but they remained as they had been since they arrived. The metal squealing continued. Around the corner came a young man, sitting in a chair fixed upon wheels. The rolled himself down the hall and was struck with wonder when he saw the two strangers upon the bench. He gazed with open eyes upon Ystin’s golden armor and Exoristos’ great hammer and bulging muscles.  
“Well?” said Exoristos.  
The man looked like he had been shot with lightning. “I...I...I…” he said. He stopped and gathered himself then finally spoke coherently, “are you two members of the Demon Knights?”  
Ex and Ystin exchanged confused looks. “I suppose we are. Even if I had no choice in the matter,” said Exoristos.  
The man lit up with joy and rolled his chair up close to them. “You’re the warrior Exoristos!” he exclaimed, “And you! You’re Ystin, the Shining Knight.”  
They exchanged looks again. “Yes,” said Ystin who was more than a little unnerved.  
“I saw you two! You fought off the giants when they were attacking the city! Oh I only dreamed as such a day as this! Sir Knight Sir Ystin, I’ve read so much about your many feats! Is it true you have a winged pegasus? And Exoristos, you come from the Island of Themyscira, the home of the warrior Amazons! Oh please, tell me where your travels have brought you! What monsters you have fought!” Hazm suddenly realized his lack of manners, “Oh! But please forgive me for being so rude, I am Prince Hazm, son of Caliph Al Jabr! I would bow, but my legs do fail me.” He held out his hand.  
Ystin failed to hide his bewilderment and chortled at the man’s admiration. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he shook his hand.  
Even Exoristos could not contain herself. “It’s an honor myself,” she said.  
“That sword,” said Hazm, pointing to the one at Ystin’s hip. “Is it true it never dulls and was handed to you by Artus the Bear King?”  
Ystin smiled. He stood and drew his sword from its sheath. He swung it with the grace of a dancer, purposeful, tactful, not a single stroke was wasted as it rang through the halls. “This one?” he said, “Yes it was.” He held it out for Hazm.  
Hazm was dumbstruck as if he did not believe what was before him. He grabbed the hilt expecting it to be nothing but his imagination, it felt heavy in his hands. Hazm waited to admire the great smith work of this sword. It gleamed like the finest jewels in his hand. “Is it alright if I swing it?” he asked.  
“Certainly,” said Ystin amused at his joy, “But be careful, it seems a bit heavy for you.”  
“I’ve only been trained in small blades,” he said, “knives and short swords, but never anything like the sword of a knight. Ha!” He cheered as he cut through the air. “Ha ha! Oh! Ya!”  
Exoristos grunted.  
“So tell me Hazm, why is it that you take such an interest in us?” asked Sir Ystin.  
“I have heard so many stories about you Demon Knights,” said Hazm, “My father hasn’t told me in nearly twenty years about what happened when he fought alongside you at Little Spring or fought Morgaine Le Fey. He doesn’t look back on those days fondly. My father doesn’t care too much for stories, he prefers that I prepare to be Caliph when my time comes.”  
“Al Jabr’s son, a poet?” asked Exoristos, “Oh I can imagine he wants you nothing to do with us.”  
“No I don’t,” said Al Jabr. All were quiet. Al Jabr stood with his study doors open, looking upon Hazm with a look of disappointment. “Hazm, shouldn’t you be making sure everything is in order for after I depart? This city doesn’t run itself you know.”  
“Yes, father,” said the young man. With a heavy heart, Hazm handed back Sir Ystin’s sword and wheeled himself down the hall in silence. Exoristos and Ystin were sad to see him go.  
“Well come on now!” barked Al Jabr, “I’m to be off before midday! Let’s make this quick.”


	14. The Walls of Alba Sarum

For another week, Xanadu, Sarah, Jason, and Brickwedge rode for Alba Sarum. They did not speak much. Xanadu was focused on her spells as Jason on his scrolls while the Horsewoman never spoke much at all. They made their way up into northern France when finally they came to the gates of Alba Sarum. High these walls stood, greater than any giant as they arched up towards the sky. The soil had a strange touch of magic to it as the city housed many great wizards and sorcerers, once even the great mage Merlin. When the group approached the gates, they were stopped. The was a garrison of soldiers at the gate checking everyone who passed through. When they finally reached the end of the long train, Xanadu showed them their wedding invitations and they passed through instantly. Brickwedge was stopped dead as he gazed upon the insides of the city. He had never seen such a place as this. In Alba Sarum, the buildings were built from spells and enchantments as much as stone and mortar. Here great articulate spires reached up to scrape the sky. There was strangers from all lands, Moors from across the Mediterranean,strange folk from Rus, gold and purple wearing nobles of Byzantine, and countless others he could not begin to recognize, and then there were people. As they shoved their way through the streets, Brickwedge found himself next to a fine mare with a coat of pure chestnut. He remembered seeing such mares while he had been at work at the mill in Al Wadi.  
“Why hello there,” he thought to her.  
The mare was silent.  
“What brings you to Al Wadi?” he asked.  
Still nothing.  
“I am the mount of the Horsewoman. I’m sure you’ve heard of her,” he said, “She’s riding me.”  
The mare gave him a look. “Who’s this legendary Horsewoman?”  
“Why she’s only the greatest archer in all the world! She can shoot an arrow clear over eight kingdoms and still land a bullseye. She and I have been on many adventures! Why only a month ago we had to hold of an army of vampires. Twas a terrible battle, so much blood and carnage, you could hear the howling echo far into the night. But did I back down? No,” he said, “I stood fast, facing the horde lead by their undead master, and one by one we slew the abominations!”  
“I’m certain you did,” said the mare.  
“I swear I did!” Sarah, “Tell her how we defeated the giants!”  
“Brickwedge,” thought Sarah, “I am not going to serve as some bard to sing your praises.”  
“But come on!” said Brickwedge.  
“No,” replied Sarah.  
“It seems you two already have a relationship going anyway,” said the mare, “and this is where I’ll be leaving.” She turned off the street away from them.  
“We aren’t like that!” shouted Brickwedge but the mare was gone. “Curses,” he thought, “Sarah, why won’t you lend me a hoof?”  
“Because I have dignity,” she replied.  
They made their way towards the citadel of Alba Sarum. As they entered the inner fortifications of the castle, Xanadu sensed eyes upon them. She saw, up on a high tower, a twinkle of magical energy. A silent gaze from Horsewoman confirmed her suspicions that eyes were upon them. The dismounted before the palace gates. The Horsewoman had difficulty leaving her horse’s side. She had with her a cane to rest her legs, she was new to walking again after all. Unfortunately they had to scale a great many winding stairs and corridors, the princesses castle reflected its native soil, full of uncertainty.   
Alas, they arrived at the throne room, its many windows that revealed the spanning city. From here you could see the sun rise and fall, and see the stars across the horizon. In the center of this room were two great chairs. They were carved from oak and had been carved by the greatest wood cutter in thirty kingdoms. They looked woven, like baskets and their made gave the illusion that they sprouted out from the floor and upon the seats sat the flowers.  
Time had withered these two rulers as they had Al Jabr. Princess Alba, once with the most beautiful brown hair, had turned a murky grey. Her long locks cut to nothing. While the seat she sat upon was so perfectly smoothed, her face was like rotten bark. She once stood as tall as Exoristos, now she was bent. Princess Sarum was similar. She kept her long hair, but it was now pure white. Her fingers were brittle and weak. The eyes that could see through anyone were weighed down in old age. Thirty years ago, they had sent the Demon Knights out to help them rebuild Camelot. For thirty long years they had waited, under oath their wedding would bring a new apex to humanity. Their promise now left them in a husk of what they had been.  
“My ladies Alba and Sarum,” spoke their escort, “I present to you, Jason Blood, Madam Xanadu, and the Horsewoman of the Demon Knights.”  
The three of them stood cemented in place.  
Princess Sarum lifted herself out of her throne. She walked, slowly, to Jason. She tugged on his chin with her long bony fingers. She gazed over every feature of his face. “My word,” she said. She moved over to Xanadu. She admired beauty that was stuck in stone. Finally to the Horsewoman whose hair she toiled. “You truly are ageless.” She suddenly became herself. “Forgive my rudeness. You all gave me quite a shock. It is a pleasure to have you among us.” She smiled and raised her hand, “Today is a happy day!”  
“We are truly flattered Princess Sarum,” said Xanadu, “but we are fear that-”  
“That someone might try to attack during our wedding?” said Princess Alba.  
“Well, yes actually,” said Xanadu, “precisely.”  
“Oh come now Xanadu, do you take us for fools?” asked Sarum.  
“We’ve been keeping information on you ever since you left our city,” said Alba.   
“It would seem an oversight if we didn’t,” Sarum added.  
“Nothing personal, but you all held the Questing Queen’s horde for an entire day on your own,” said Alba. “God knows what else you’re capable of.”  
“We’ve done our research on Camelot and the Holy Grail. Merlin gave more than enough warnings and omens. Why else would we invite six of the most terrifying fighters in all of Europe to our wedding?” said Sarum.  
Xanadu smirked. “I remembered why I like you both so much.”

Al Jabr was fortunate that he only had to deal with Exoristos and Sir Ystin. Ystin was eager to see a new Camelot rise, even if he had his fears. Exoristos would easily sway to Ystin’s dreams. Together, all three set out for Alba Sarum with a great caravan and soldiers.  
Before they left, Al Jabr spoke with his son.  
“Listen, Hazm,” he said. “I know that I have not been the best father to you nor your sister. I wish I could have spent more time with the two of you, but this damned city won’t run itself, despite my lack of trying. I hope you can forgive me for my failures. I shall be away and I don’t know when I shall return. Do not let any resentment toward me fester, my son. What I do, I do for the benefit of all mankind.”  
Hazm had said nothing. He held his head low and in the most empty of whispers said, “Yes, father.”  
Their caravan was already three days out from Al Wadi and Al Jabr had cursed his fate the entire way. The caravan consisted of the finest entertainers his city had to offer. Al Wadi was not altogether known for great bards or jugglers or what have you. The city was known for its machines and technicians. Al Jabr had invited only the finest entertainers he could round up. They were give carts or wagons to make the journey. In his old age, Al Jabr did not like to travel alone. All the people were a good excuse to also bring with him a heavy guard as he traveled through the Christian lands. It was in this great mass of performers that Ystin and Exoristos would blend in well. The Shining Knight’s winged steed was taken for a fake alongside traveling shows of freak animals. While Al Jabr did not see as much pleasure in their company as others, he knew they had their uses. In the roofed wagon of a team of acrobats, the grail and its counterpart were hidden away in a compartment of his own design. The performers were ignorant of this. Instead they had been recently joined by several strong fellows who had all once been part of the elite royal guard. Such a coincidence they now rode in this wagon. As the people of the caravan appeared as fools to any passersby, they held a strong escort of dangerous cavalry and infantry men among their ranks. Any signs that they came from Al Wadi had been stripped. Al Jabr knew he did not have many friends in these Christian lands and a train of what appeared mercenaries would be easier to move through them.  
Currently Al Jabr was not concerned about mad Catholics, but his own companions.  
Ystin swore at him in something Celtic.  
Al Jabr hadn’t learned the language full but it sounded like, “You have the wisdom of a stuffed owl. A curse upon your father.”  
“You should have consuled us on this!” shouted Ystin. They were in Al Jabr’s private wagon. It was surrounded by his men on all sides and appeared from outside as the hypothetical owner of these merry makers. Fitting to its owner, the wagon made clever use of space and had many hidden compartments and tricks.  
“It is not as if I gave you a choice, Ystin,” replied Al Jabr, “You and the others rode off at the first chance. You cannot simply give me protection of these artifacts. I am an old man, my city needs not more burdens upon it. After all, it is you who seeks this grail. Wouldn’t you want it to be put to use to help lives rather than gather dust in my vaults? Even then, Vandal Savage knew it was there. I’d rather not give that barbarian anymore reason to come smashing down my walls then he already has.”  
“To move the grail is dangerous, you know that.” said Ystin.  
“To not do so is equally dangerous in my shoes,” said Al Jabr, “At least here I can save all of our face by giving it to the princesses. They have stayed to their oath for the thirty years we failed to deliver them their hopes they entrusted to us. I’ve done many things I’m not proud of, I suppose I’d like to make amends every now and then. Call me old.”  
It was then that he had Ystin. The stall in the knight’s words meant he had won him over. “Very well,” said Ystin. He seemed to have folded himself up. There was sympathy in his words. Ystin was ever the chivalrous knight.   
While Al Jabr did not like manipulating his friend, he felt a small sense of triumph.  
Exoristos had been there the whole time. She was indifferent to the balance of power in Man’s World. She had been cast from Themyscira long ago and wondered the world aimlessly. She had gotten wrapped up in situations of lords abusing their subjects or warlords. However she was ignorant of much that was at stake here. The grail would not just sit atop Alba Sarum’s shiny towers, it could change the world beyond what was even possible. She towered over him. Her frame was like those of greek statues, muscles beyond the boundaries of any normal human. She bent her head to look directly down upon him.“I hope you’re right about this,” she said.  
“You don’t live as long as me without taking a few precautions.” The old man smiled a crazy smile. It was the kind that a man gives when he knows the perfect cards to play.


	15. Glory to the Brave

The princesses, though they disliked the Demon Knights leaving their walls, were wrestled to agree with them. They assigned some of their guard, not that it was truly needed, to follow them from Alba Sarum. A pair of the finest mages escorted them to the opening of a canyon. It was long sealed shut by mountainous boulders. As if to to forever bury some wretched evil. It was practical that it was here, of course, but it disturbed Jason. The wizards chanted their incantations and strained to lift the blockage so they could narrowly fly through. It was a short ride on horseback through narrow canyons and around winding trails. They had to dismount their horses on switchbacks that hung over the ravines. While Xanadu, Jason, and Sarah were unnerved. Many of the riders clung to the rock face for dear life. One small slip and they would go tumbling down into the abyss, never to be seen again.  
When they had cleared the main hurdle of this journey, they reached the fields. The Brickwedge shuttered at the sight of the desolate lands. Like a vast scar that cut across the countryside. The long rotten bark of trees that once blocked out the sky lay down like the dead. Fires had run wild across these fields, long neglected and abandoned. There had once been great fields of crops. Now it was all ash. The three of them rode on with their heads hung low, both in sorrow and in shame. The riders were awestruck by this place. They had heard of this land in only the faintest of stories. Many of them were not old enough to remember what had happened here. It was gazing upon what had only lived in myth and rumor and now made real before them. The group finally reached their destination. In the center of all this waste stood the ruins of old buildings. They had been hollowed out. Not even the weariest of travelers dared rest here, for they knew what horrors had once occured here. There was only the grey ash remains of this town. In the middle of where the square had been, the nose embedded deep in the ground, stood the monument to these atrocities.  
It was a mechanical dragon’s head, standing as tall as city walls. A ghost of what it had once been. Whatever infernal life had roared inside it, pumped by the muscles of men, had long left it. It’s shining steel skin was scoured by rust. It had been covered over at least twice in these thirty years gone by. In its shadow were the great mound graves. The soldiers of Alba Sarum had tried to bury everyone, soldier, barbarian, man, woman, and child alike, but they never could bury all of them. The stink of the carcasses had formed out of this terrible place and even the people of Alba Sarum had smelt it for a month.  
“What is this place?” asked Brickwedge.  
“This,” said Sarah, “was Little Spring.”  
It had been thirty years ago, but the Horsewoman, Jason, and Xanadu had known it well. This was where the Demon Knights had formed, the seven of them all in this small town when the Questing Queen had arrived. It was simple. She had wanted nothing to do with the town. it simply lay between her horde and a hidden passage to Alba Sarum. She mattered not for the villagers and farmers that stood between her and her goal, to one day create Camelot in her own image. She saw Little Spring as nothing more than a pimple to pop. When the Demon Knights thought to stand their ground, they had brought all hellfire upon these people. All attempts to warn the city had failed. They faced many a deception and traps from the Queen. They had been bottled in. The horde on one side and the heldrich dragons on the other. It was they who rallied the townsfolk to fight for their homes and it had cost them all their lives.They held the Queen off through the night and into morning, but only by costly magic. It had been midday when the horde broke through the barricades, the old men and young boys they had only a night to train were slaughtered. Whether they fought or fled, they had all met the same fate, drowned in the red ocean of the Queen’s ambition. Even then, surrounded on all sides, Ystin, Exoristos, Etrigan, Al Jabr, Xanadu, and even Vandal fought where the little people could not. With swords to their throats, the calvary arrived. While they had held the barbarians at bay, the Horsewoman, only the Horewoman had passed the dragons and made it to the city, bringing the full might of Alba Sarum upon the weakened horde.   
The princesses had explained, only one man had survived the slaughter. They never learned his name, he was raving mad when they had pulled the bodies off him. He simply spat out cries of hellfire and damnation. The princesses sought that he have the best conditions for the short life after. After five years, the terrible mad howled ceased echoing through the halls of Alba Sarum. It was in his room they found that he had taken his own life. They never knew his name.  
There was nothing left of this town anymore, nothing but a few burnt logs and chard stone. Madam Xanadu appeared the strongest struck. It had been her idea to find that little town in hopes it would serve as a peaceful home. Instead, she and Etrigan practically burnt it to the ground themselves. Jason had become more jaded and indifferent to mortal suffering over time, Etrigan never even started. But Xanadu felt their wounds. They were like great searing burns across her body. Such suffering should have been over several hundred years ago with the rise of her Camelot. Instead there was darkness. So everytime she saw the small suffer, she felt herself suffer with them. She began to weep and sob. The memories of all the people who lived here once camp flooding back. She remembered all of their faces, but not their names. The young farmer boys who took up sticks against the Questing Queen. The young girl whose head was a trophy to the horde. The poor kindly father who spent his last minutes forgiving Etrigan as he was pulled into Hell. She poured out great tears remembering the pain and sorrow of this place. It was wrong that she and Jason should survive yet not a single child of Little Spring.   
Jason held her as she cried. He had been in Hell for much of the battle, yet he was all too familiar in seeing fire and ash when he returned to Earth.   
The Horsewoman looked upon the desolation with an stone brow. In fact her horse looked more disturbed than her. Brickwedge took her timidly through the dead remains of the towns keeping far from the black ash. This had become a twisted place. There was no true power but there was the blazing rage of war in the air.   
The guards thought they shouldn’t even enter. They waited as Xanadu prayed for the souls of Little Spring, for all they had given and all they had sacrificed  
When she had finished, she planted a cross of twigs by the great metal head and left. Jason and Sarah followed her. None of them looked back. They crossed the plains of ash in silence. They scaled the cliff trails. The guards weren’t scared this time, they knew the way. It wasn’t until they reached the blockage that the Horsewoman spoke, “I used to wander from place to place, very few people even cared who I was. It wasn’t until Little Spring I ever considered staying in one place. I never really went into the town, I just lived on the outskirts. They meant a lot to me.” The mages broke apart the great blockage and they returned to Alba Sarum.

The citadel of Alba Sarum was not built like any other. Two great towers of equal height peaked over the rooftops. These were the chambers of Princess Alba and Princess Sarum. It had been designed by Alba’s request. A show to the people that the princesses would not indulge in their own company until they had made their city the true Camelot reborn. Obviously, through over thirty long years, they had often decided to put their vows a side for their own happiness, but it was Alba who always stopped them. “No my love,” she would say, “We have our duty to our people.” and they would hold each other in silent sorrow.  
There was one thing that Alba had bent to, that was a bridge that spanned between their chambers. It was small, barely enough for two men to walk down. It had been built of strong stone and windowed with stained glass. The windows depicted the great legends of Camelot. The birth of King Arthur, the pulling of the sword from the stone, the swearing of Arthur’s knights, their round table, the fall of the citadel, but in the middle there was Alba and Sarum holding the grail before their rejoicing people. Alba had promised, the day they were wed, she’d have this bridge destroyed and they would no longer hold chambers in their towers.  
It was here, looking through this final window, Princess Alba gazed over her city. She turned as she heard footsteps approaching.  
“Are you alright?” asked Sarum. It was often her who came here to ponder, not Alba.  
“I have to wonder if my stubbornness has damned us both,” she said. “I kept my vows because I was a knight. It’s expected that I do, else I am no more good than a crooked sellsword. But look what it’s cost.” She ran her weathered fingers across the image of herself in the glass. “You used to say I had the most beautiful auburn hair, and so long.” Her warped reflection shone her short crop that had turned white as winter. Holding back the first of tears, she pounded on the window. “Our youth damn it!” Alba cried, “I sealed you off in a tower of my own making! You should hold no love for an old crone like me. All my talk of honor and duty aren’t worth dung! All I have done is stolen your young days and beauty away from you!” she fell to her knees wailing. “I should have broken my word a thousand times ago! Oaths are nothing to me if it means your best days are lost in waiting!”  
Sarum knelt down behind her and embraced her. She held Alba with all her might as she bruised her veiny fists on the cold stone.  
“Why are you here?” Alba shouted, “I have ruined you!”  
“What has happened cannot be taken back, it is true,” said Sarum, “But we have held to our word. We sought to do the impossible and we shall. And age be damned, you are still as beautiful as the day I met you.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I think it actually looked more like this that day besides.”  
Alba met her with her own red and weepy eyes and let loose a great laugh. “You are terrible at this sort of thing,” she said.  
“I think I do alright,” replied Sarum. She held on tight to her princess. They sat there as the sun fall from the high sky and sunk below the horizon and welcomed the stars to bloom.  
They were stayed there until a guard came to see them. “Princess Alba, Princess Sarum, forgive my intrusion, but the Demon Knights have returned to the castle.”

As they had made their way from Rome, the Compass Roses had quickly learned what kind of man their lord was and knew themselves cursed to be in his presence. Sir Romulus, Sir Kochi, Sir Janub, Sir Zephyrus, and Sir Nordroni had done things they had hated themselves for in the name of God, but to serve Vandal Savage was another thing entirely. One time, a young boy thought to throw mud on Lord Savage’s cloak. Vandal had demanded that Romulus have the boy quartered for his insolence. When their leader had hesitated, Savage hit him to the ground and ordered Nordroni to do it. Nordroni was cold, but not as cruel to kill a naive commoner boy. It was then that Vandal took a young maid by the hair and said if they did not make an example of the runt, he would make one of his worth eightfold. Bound to their service, they dragged the boy to the center of town as he kicked and screamed. His siblings looked on in pure horror. Each of the roses held a limb as Vandal boasted to the entire town of fifty. He said this is what awaited those who opposed the great Lord Vandal Savage and dared to spit into his offering hand. He dropped his hand and it was over. The boy’s family screamed. The rest of the village silenced held their tongues.


	16. Moonlight Dance Part 1

Thirty years ago, Al Jabr stood on a block of wood before the palace of Al Wadi as someone placed a noose around his neck. The crowd stared in anticipation as the hangman tied the fates of his other clients. To his right was Ayyub the Nimble, nothing more that a cutpurse. The thief had already had all the fingers of his right hand chopped off the last time he was caught. They said Ayyub was found looting a group of guards killed in the fighting. To his left was Qays. That monster had preyed upon God knew how many innocent women and children. His crimes had been made the ghosts stories of the entire city. Al Jabr did not think hanging with them fitted him. He was to be hung on crimes of treason and for good cause.  
The Sultan of Al Wadi, Sultan Affan, was a terrible man, his father was an atrocious man, his father before him was a tyrannical man, his father before him was a monstrous man, his father before him was an abominable man, and so on and so on. Al Jabr had fallen in with a rebellion to take down Affan from within his own city. It was not going well.  
The hangman stated their crimes. While the people jeered for the sentence of Ayyub and Qays, they were silent when he spoke of Al Jabr. A barrier of guards stood between the crowd and the gallows. They were the Sultan’s elite guard. Their icy gaze swept over the people. The ploys in the commoner heads were given up to their terrible eyes. Al Jabr’s wrists were bound by three sets of shackles. He had picked his original pair back in the dungeon and Affan wanted to make him look a bigger fool.  
The hangman gave the condemned a chance to have final words. Ayyub the Nimble broke down instantly. His many rolls wriggling as he wailed like a child. He begged to speak his case before the Sultan. Al Jabr almost felt sorry for him, but was brought back to his senses by his disgust. Al Jabr wanted to have a dignified death.  
When it came his turn to speak, Al Jabr said, “I stand here as a servant of this city. I labor to rip Affan the tyrant from his throne!” The crowd cheered for him and chanted his name.  
“That’s enough!” said the hangman.   
“Men and women die fighting for scraps of bread while ‘his holiness’ feast on the finest fruits. I ask you, everyone of you, do not be-”  
The hangman laid a blow into his gut. Al Jabr’s slipped out from under his block and he swung back and forth over the stage. Guards and deadman alike howled at him as he kicked at the air.   
“Idiot,” said the hangman. He placed the wooden block back where it belonged. “Keep it shut or I’ll drop you early, hear me?”  
Qays spoke of all sorts of terrible things. Even in the face of death, he had no conscience. The crowd yelled and screamed at him as he described what he had done to a farmer’s family. The hangman leaned against the gallow as he laughed at the people’s fury. He let Qays speak his entire terrible piece as the crowd went wild. Finally all Qays had was just swearing at the people and finally the hangman decided to start this show.  
“By the righteous decree of Sultan Affan, lord of Al Wadi, I sentence you all to death.” He flung the lever.  
For a split second, it seemed time stopped. The yelling of the crowd went away and there was only Al Jabr. The three sets of shackles behind his back cut his wrists and the bristles of the noose dug deep into his neck. Slowly the world began to rise up around him. The stage lift up on all sides as he sunk. “This was it,” he thought, “My life ends here. At least he could rest easy with the life he had led. He may have failed these people but he knew he could face God with no crimes, even if he had failed those princesses.   
Something split the silence, cutting straight through the screams of the crowd. Something went thunk. Al Jabr stood on something, just by the ends of his toes. The hangman stared in awe. Al Jabr stood while Qays and Ayyub both swung from the noose. The rope was still constricting on his neck but he lived. He strained to see what held him up. The same sound came and this time he recognized it. An arrow struck down the hangman. Members of the crowd screamed. They ran from the line of guards. Another arrow can whirring at Al Jabr. The noose was cut and he fell through the gallows. His face smacked into the stone. “Praise Allah,” he whispered. He still had three pairs of shackles binding him and royal guards were approaching him. Six of them. The others were dispersing the crowd and searching for the archers. The six ran for him. Another arrow was let loose. It struck one of them square in the back. He fell to the ground. The guards all turned to watch their comrade die. Just then an explosion rocked the square. Gas came from all sides, obscuring his vision. “Those are mine!” thought Al Jabr, not that he should complain. The guards were lost as well. But he was one while they were many. Al Jabr dodged Qays swinging feet and ran of the nearest alley.  
His whole body ached from sitting in a dungeon cell. He felt he could come apart at any minute. He was fueled on will alone. He ran like a mad stallion through the streets and back alleys of Al Wadi. The slightest sound set him off. He ran full speed from everything. It was then he saw, up on the rooftops, jumping above his head, a man carrying a bow. “Wait!” Al Jabr cried out. The man heeded him nothing. He had his arms behind his back. Yet through some unknown strength, Al Jabr jumped upon a single story house and leapt up onto the rooftops.   
The man with the bow was up ahead. The archer moved with uncanny speed. He was like smoke and water, jumping seemed second nature to him. Al Jabr called out to him. The archer paused a second to hear his words and ran on.  
“Wait!” Al Jabr didn’t recognize him from the rebels he aligned with. His brothers in arms had likely all been kidnapped when they got to him. Any of their hideaways could be a trap. He would take his chances with this man. The man was covered head to toe with knifes and short swords. A net of Al Jabr’s gas bombs slung over his shoulder. His face was entirely obscured. He paid little attention to Al Jabr’s hail as he darted along the rooftops. “Wait!” Al Jabr shouted again to no heed.   
Finally, Al Jabr caught up to the man. If only for a few seconds. At that moment, his foot struck something and he fell, knocking the strange archer down with him. Al Jabr’s face smacked against someone’s roof as he rolled. He came to a stop lying on his belly with his lower legs dangling off the edge. “Idiot” he thought to himself. He wriggled himself, like an inchworm, to get his feet back on the roof. It was then he felt the archer dangling from his leg. “Oh dear,” he thought and he slid off the rooftop.  
He hit the street with a loud smack. The triple set of shackles dug deep into his arms. His head was ringing. He got himself standing upright and that’s when he noticed. A long trail of cloth hung unwrapped from the archer’s neck. “Oh,” he thought.  
The strange man was no man at all, but a woman. She reminded him of someone. He recognized her. He wanted to scream out in shock. It was Princess Yamina, Sultan Affran’s daughter. She slapped her hand over his mouth and put a dagger to his throat, “You really shouldn’t have done that.”  
Yamina turned him around and slammed him into the side of the narrow alley way. She grabbed his hands. “Nothing personal, but you’ve seen my face,” she wrapped her face back up, “and I can’t allow that.” A small sword appeared in her hands. She brought it up to Al Jabr’s neck. In one swift move, Al Jabr lept and brought his chained hands from behind him, under his bent legs, and in front of him as he landed and caught the blade in his shackles.  
Yamina’s eyes bulged for a second with her edge caught in chains.   
Al Jabr felt a boost in his chances.  
Yamina’s eyes turned sad. “Please don’t make this any more difficult,” she said. Her other hand held a knife.  
Al Jabr danced around franticly blocking attacks. Yamina’s strikes were with uncanny precision. He kept backing into the walls of the alley and knocking over baskets full of fish and fruits. “Well I am very gracious,” he said, “For rescuing me earlier today.” A quick swerve of his head avoided the edge of her sword. “Really, I wasn’t expecting it”. Yamina kicked his feet out from under him. He smacked onto the cold ground. She pulled his head up to reveal his neck and brought down her dagger. “I’m sorry if I have to be such a pain.” He sent the knife flying down the alleyway. “But I like living.”  
“Not enough to die with some dignity though,” said Princess Yamina. She had him pinned now and his neck exposed.  
Again, like at the gallows, Al Jabr felt everything slow to a crawl. In less than five seconds, he’d be dead. Granted being killed by the beautiful Yamina wasn’t too bad, he still wouldn’t care for it. Then he heard footsteps.  
“Over here! I found ‘em!” he shouted out.  
The footsteps stopped, then began marching toward them, and much louder.  
“What are you doing?” Princess Yamina’s eyes gave a small glimpse of fear.  
Al Jabr smirked, “Gambling.” He lowered his shackled hands to prove he was defenseless. “In a few seconds city guards are going to come pouring down this alleyway. You might have noticed,” he said looking at himself, “that there is one entrance and one dead end. And while you are a considerable athlete, it would take time to climb to the rooftops. That leaves you with three options.” He smugly counted them on his fingers. “One, you kill me and try to climb the walls before they arrive. Good luck to you if you try. Two, you run and leave me for them and risk me telling them all about you. Three,” he paused to let more nervousness seep in, “we fight our way out together.”  
Yamina’s eyes wanted to burn right through him.  
“There’s a reason they’re trying to kill me,” he said.  
“May God forsake you,” she replied.  
A troop of guards burst into the alleyway, scimitars drawn. “So have you chosen, oh mystery man?” said Al Jabr.  
Yamina turned to him. “Yes, you can get your own sword.”  
The guards fell on them. Yamina drew another of her short swords and met their steel. She wove around them like smoke. The clumsy attacks were all to easy for her to see. Realizing their foe was by far their superior, many turned to Al Jabr. The first to attack Al Jabr had his sword caught in the man’s shackles. With a twist of his arms, Al Jabr ripped the blade from his hand. The weapon went bouncing down the street as he kicked the guard in the gut. Another sword fell. Al Jabr blocked it again with his chains. The guard pulled his sword back and went for an unconventional thrust. He caught the man’s attack right betweens his arms and his body. Al Jabr snapped the shackles down on his wrist and the man yelped in pain. In an instant, Al Jabr held a scimitar. He waved in front of his attackers. “Come along men, I don’t have all day!” he roared as he dove head on into the brawl.  
The two of them, with their backs to the end of the alley, were a wall of steel, blood, and screams. These poor souls, used to fighting knights with no mobility, found they were the ones trapped now. They couldn’t move in this this alley. They let themselves be pushed together as they tried to pull back. Al Jabr and Yamina’s swords flashed like lightning. The two easily held them off. Al Jabr letting loose wild boasts as they came and Yamina remaining silent, least these guards had heard her voice in the palace. It was then that something caught Al Jabr’s eye. As he dueled with a man with sausages for fingers whom was easier to parry than a child with a stick, a set of shadows moved at the mouth of the alley. Yamina was caught against three blades and wasn’t looking. Al Jabr saw it was a troop of men, with crossbows. “Archer!” he shouted to her. She was held up by her foes. Al Jabr hacked sausage fingers down and then one of her opponents before knocking her to the street.   
A flock of blots cut over their heads. A large muscular guard toppled down on top of them. They bleed all over the two. Yamina and Al Jabr rolled the poor man of of them. The guards lay dying and dead in the alley way, their bodies riddled with their friends’ own bolts. Up ahead, the crossbowmen were reloading. Al Jabr recognized the armor of the Sultan’s personal guard. Without an exchange, Yamina and Al Jabr dropped upon them like a waterfall upon stone. They hacked them to pieces until most gave up and ran. They let them. Enough blood had been spilled this day.  
Now Yamina and Al Jabr were the only ones left, trying to wipe blood off their hands.  
“You didn’t have to save me,” said Yamina.  
“Well, yes, I didn’t,” said Al Jabr, “I must say I was almost tempted not to. But I’ve had to live with more than enough regrets for a man my age. The last thing I’d like is to pile on more.”  
Yamina smiled at him.  
“Also, if Sultan Affan found his daughter dead by my hands. My life would be more forfeit than it already is.”  
Yamina pressed the scimitar against his throat. “Now that would be impressive,” she said.  
Al Jabr still held his own blade. It felt light in his hands. He was familiar with the blade. He wondered how well he could fight with it. He recognized not well enough and dropped it. He met her with his eyes. “Might as well get this over with.” The blade scraped up his chin his stubble came off.  
“I suppose I do owe you for my life,” admitted Yamina. “Foolish as your reasoning is. How about this? I shall give you the rest of the day to make your peace with God before I cut you down.”  
Al Jabr was shocked, “Well it is more than generous, but how do you know I won’t run from the city?”  
“You won’t,” said Yamina. She sheathed her sword, “And if you do, I’ll have you hunted down and kill you regardless.”  
“Truly your father’s daughter,” laughed Al Jabr. He stopped when he saw her gaze, “Thank you Princess...Archer, I shall make my peace. But how shall I know to find you.”  
“I will find you,” said Yamina as she ran off up onto the rooftops.  
Al Jabr watched her run off beyond his sight. He put his hand to his chin and noticed the blood. Close shave indeed. For some reason, he wasn’t as utterly terrified as he should be at the prospect of her hunting him down. He remembered now he was still wearing three sets of shackles. “Hmph,” he said.


	17. Moonlight Dance Part 2

Yamina held her breath in her father’s noxious hall. The laughter and merriment here was from sick men who sounded more like pigs. Dogs ran between and under the tables. They picked up whatever fell on the floor. An entire table was cheering as two hounds bit and tore each other over some chicken scraps. The smaller of the two had its ear ripped off and fled with its tail between its legs. Money passed between some of the guests. Children were treated the same way. They wandered carelessly through the tables. The youngest ones, barely walking, often would fall on the hard stone floor or be cushioned on the small piles of dung. These men, all these men, were servants of her father, Sultan Affan.  
Yamina’s father was a large man. He was muscular and appeared young for his age. He had no beard or moustache. He been the born heir of Al Wadi, so he claimed at least. He had been a middle child of eight from his father. No one knew where the seven had gone too. From the day Yamina could crawl she feared him. He would condemn a family to the hangman for looking sad when he passed by. He laid down heavy taxes on the people to pay for his lavish gifts and trophies from far off lands. Yamina never knew why she was the only child of his harem, or what she had done with her mother. All she knew is that her father was a monster to be put down.   
Sultan Affan let loose boisterous laughter as the one eared dog left the hall. On its way out, he hit the dog with a bone from his plate and it scampered out in silence.   
Yamina had learned from an early age that she was more or less another trophy of her father, a metal to be polished and put on display for his ego. She had decided she should put an end to him, but lacking the ruthless tactics he possessed. The only rightful means to destroy him would have to be from below. The people of Al Wadi had the strength to destroy him, but lacked the courage. She didn’t blame them. She knew of rebellions and had helped them from the shadows, killing guards should they learn something and help sneaking them supplies. That is how she would kill her father.  
Rahhu, father’s master of arms, approached the table and whispered in her ear, “The hour is coming for him is it not?”  
Yamina nodded and took leave while her father was groping his favorite wife, the thing was younger than she was.  
Yamina hated her family’s palace. It had been built by her great grandfather who was nothing short of a warlord. He demanded a home built to his monstrous ego but wanted it too hastily. She had heard many rumors of the dead workers who had been sealed away within these walls.   
Rahhu walked with her, his love for Affan was no greater than his daughter’s. Rahhu was an older man. He had once lived in Egypt as a fighter in the arenas. He had earned a worthy reputation there and so was bought up by Affan and shipped to Spain. He easily proved himself the best combatant in Al Wadi and the Sultan, on one drunken night, thought him a proper man at arms. He did his job proper. He kept stock in the armories, made sure the soldiers were capable on the field. Yet for some reason, too many weapons would break and men would hurt themselves in sparring or fall off horses. Just enough that Affan never had enough faith in his men to attack other territories, or God forbid, the Christians. If that fool would have his way, every army under the sun would be breaking down these walls.  
Yamina made her way through the endless hallways and up the ever climbing stairs until she came to her quarters. Two of her father’s gruesomest men stood watch. She gave a silent sign to Rahhu. The man at arms closed the door behind her and placed his back to the door.  
“Princess Yamina does not feel well, something at dinner did not sit with her,” Rahhu said to the guards.  
The two of them looked with questioning eyes. Retching sounds came from beyond the door. They both winced at a horrid odor.  
Princess Yamina was well practiced in tricking her guards. She could never sing, but she could sound like she was retching all her insides out. The bowl of rotten eggs she placed by the door were almost overpowering. She thought the hairs of her nostrils would catch fire. There was little time to waste, the moon was rising high in the sky. She reached behind her wardrobe and grabbed hold of a loose brick in the wall. She pulled it out, the brick was fixed onto a metal rod. She turned the brick upside down and shoved it back into place. She faked her heaving some more to hide the thudding sound under her bed. Long bedsheets hung to the floor. She peeked underneath them and saw the square opening below. She stripped herself. She could not fit through the hole and her clothes stunk of sulfur. She gave one final fake retch before she crawled under her bed frame and slid down into the tunnel.  
It was dark down here. The way down was a ladder cut into a side of the hole. It was covered in dirt.. Touching the freezing grime and unable to see it made Yamina’s skin scrawl. Her hands and feet became coated as she climbed down deeper into the darkness. Her bare back would brush against the other side, also coated in dirt. God, she hated this. She had made this journey many times and everytime she dreaded it. The tunnel just kept going and going and going and going. The first time Yamina had climbed down here, she thought she must have gone right down to the roots of the palace. Finally she saw the light from below. Her feet dangled out in the open of a room. She let go.  
Yaminia landed on her feet, perfectly. She looked around in the dimly lit room. Her wardrobe was still there. A single candle had melted into a pool of wax on a shelf. There were other candles stored nearby. Yamina took a fresh one and held its wick in the flame. Then she went around the room. The walls were lined with torches. She lit them and put the new candle in place of the old one. There was only one small crag of a window in this room to see the night sky. The moon was rising high. Yamina went to the wardrobe. Inside were her clothes and a basin of water. She washed away all the muck from her fingers, and her toes, her back, and her hair. Then she washed everything else. The rotten eggs she was capable of getting were useful, but their scent clung to her like a leech. When she was dry, she took a look at her equipment. Her standard clothes for missions was a dark blue tunic and armor. Her boots were specialized for climbing and running. Her gloves were spikes on the knuckles for grabbling. She had pouches everywhere for weapons and gear. Swords, throwing knives, crossbows, longbows, small explosives, noisemakers, gas bombs, even a short electrickery coil, always a fun one. She wouldn’t need much for this mission.   
Likely Al Jabr was holed up somewhere behind his friends in the rebellion. She had no interest in weakening their cause. She would have to sneak in undetected and silence him. A pity he had to die, he was a clever one and handsome as well. Such is the world, Yamina supposed. She did not bring many weapons, save for a sword and some daggers. The sword was a special treat from Rahhu’s armory. It had been meant for her father, however Rahhu placed in the order for a second. It was a beautiful piece of steel that cut through the air with a song, perfectly balanced and light as well. Yamina saw pride as another flaw in her family’s line, but she wouldn’t give up her blade for the world. Midnight was approaching, and so was Al Jabr’s death. She pulled up the hood and placed the mask over the bottom of her face. Another trick mechanism hidden in the wall opened up a small doorway. She crawled through the hole and came out into the moonlight.  
She stood there on the ledge of the palace. “Tonight is a good night,” Yamina thought. Below was the city of Al Wadi. The wind was strong as the smell of the sea flared in her nostrils. LIghts danced in the dark buildings, so full of life. She heard distant laughter from the palace. The moon was looking down from a far, a gibbous growing fat. “Tonight is a good night.” She was ready, “Tonight I hunt again.”  
Between the shadows and candlelight, Yamina ran. The souls safe in their homes were unaware that death was so near. Her blades are sharpened and her resolve made. She made for the rebel’s new hideout. They were holed up in the wharfs, likely remembering the previous raids. This time they wanted to be close to the water and escape. Their hideout was a warehouse owned by Milanese traders. She snuck in around the back. Her father’s attacks had weakened the rebel’s resolve. If they were to falter, Yamina would have to kill one of her father’s men to raise their spirits. Many of these men sat around, telling grim stories of their friends left behind. Her heart felt heavy overhearing them. Poor fellows. She made her way through the warehouse, hiding just out of the corner of their eyes.   
Rows of hammocks hung from crates. These were people who had no homes, thanks to her father. These poor souls slept in escaping dreams and remembering nightmares. There were all sorts of people here, men, women, and children. Many had few clothes aside from rags. Plenty bore scars from the Sultan’s hand. This one was freshly missing fingers. They had all been cut the same way. Yamina noticed a girl crying herself to sleep. Her hands were red and scarred. She recognized the smell, it was lye. Her father had let this happen to a little girl. Yamina tried to calm herself. When the time was right, Sultan Affan would taste her steel.  
It’s then she came across Al Jabr’s quarters. She guessed from all the dissected machine parts. Papers began at a desk and poured onto the floor. Designs for buildings, vehicles, aqueducts and more littered everywhere. He had quite the drawing hand, even if his buildings had no taste. On his desks was one particular scarp caught her eye. It simply said, “Meet me in the gardens”  
In the high terraces of Al Wadi, there was the home of an old merchant. He was powerful and popular among the rich. Despite his status he was a kind man, he lived only within his means. Most of his wealth, even his vast house, was given away to help the poor and destitute of the city. Those without homes took shelter in his. He only lived in the top floor. He had no guards to protect him. A thief had once come to take his money but was sent home with but a sentence, “I hate to disappoint you good sir, but as you can see I have nothing to take” His life was like that of a commoner in many ways. His clothes were ragged since he washed them himself. The only extravagance he wore for parties and business were all borrowed from friends. In the end, his kindly heart gave out. The merchant’s rich friends thought to immortalize him. So they had a garden made to sprawl the man’s roof. It was beauty unlike any other. Plants from halfway around the world were placed here. Flowers blooming in all seasons. A great lone oak tree rose above them all, old and undying. There were pedals here to make a thousand rainbows and beds of moss better than real bedding. It was here Yamina found Al Jabr.  
“Ah you made it, princess,” he said. He gazed up at the moon, now a pool of pure white light.  
Yamina stood behind him, her sword drawn. “I thought you would have the common sense to run,” she said.  
Al Jabr turned to face her. “I had a feeling you would track me down regardless. I figured if I have to die, I should at least find peace there,” he said. He held a flower in his hand. In daylight the pedals were a horrid putrid green, but in the moon’s rays it turned powder blue. Al Jabr snapped the flower off its stem and tucked it into his robes. “You know what has always bothered me about this place?” he asked.  
Yamina was silent.  
“The people who designed this garden,” said Al Jabr, “They were so arrogant and proud, they turned this old man’s open house into a fortress. I don’t remember a day I’ve walked by without a small army at the doors. The windows are all barred and any poor soul with no employment or coin to their name is beaten off. A memorial to a man known for his openness is a fortress for the aristocracy. Some times that really makes me sick. Still, it does make for a beautiful view.” He held up his arms, “As you can see I am defenseless. Grant me the privilege of a sleepy death.”  
“You’re not defenseless,” Yamina said.  
Al Jabr smirked, “Well yes true, but how would I sheath my mind?”  
Yamina dropped a scimitar to the ground and kicked it to Al Jabr’s feet.  
“That’s really not necessary, come on! I’m complying here!”  
Yamina folded her arms. “On the small of your back is a package of smoke explosives, the trigger is a string wrapped around your small left finger. The bottom of your wrist has a small box, I’d imagine it’s a wire for electrickery. Your boots both stand too high from the ground, probably have hidden blades in them. Really, if you were going to try this with me, you should have at least pretended to give up one of those.”  
Al Jabr seemed disappointed, but also a bit pleased. “Yes, in hindsight I probably should’ve. Any other pointers?”  
“Take up the sword,” Yamina replied.  
With a gracious swoop, the blade was unsheathed and in his hand. Al Jabr twirled it around and about, checking its balance. “So,” he asked, “Do you have midnight duels to the death with everyone you kill, or am I special?”  
“You’re a first actually,” she replied. “I should make it more of a habit though.”  
“I’m not one for theatrics myself,” said Al Jabr, “Do I’ve been curious to try my hand at the sword again. I’m kind of turning over a new leaf, trying to give up the bloody path. Probably should have started sooner.”  
They crossed their swords on the moonlit garden. Each gazed deep into the other’s eyes. Both knew, this was to the death.  
Alone, through the shadows of the moon, they danced. Steel racking steel. Their feet moving with the flow of the fight. Their blades shining in the light. Sweat trickled down their brows and felt their blood burn with fear and frenzy. Finally one drew blood from the other, just a cut off the arm. The other returned in similar favor. The night rang with the sound of their swords. Yamina saw Al Jabr’s small finger twitch, she severed the string trigger to the smoke bomb. Another break in his guard cost him the coil. This was a fight with only the steel in their hands.  
Finally, a cut to his thigh toppled the man. An edge was at his throat. Yamina looked deep into him with burning eyes.  
Al Jabr gazed up at death above him. He was panting his last breaths but the blade did not come.  
Yamina looked deep into him. This damned fool who thought he could best her. She never thought anyone would dare. Al Jabr was looking at her with his greatest fear but also an ounce of joy. Yamina’s blade cut itself across the stone, she leaned in closer to the man. That’s when they kissed. They stayed locked. A sword still to Al Jabr’s neck. They parted.  
“I’m glad to see you feel the same way,” said he said.  
“Yes, saves us both a lot of problems,” replied Yamina.  
“For you at least,” said Al Jabr.


	18. Change of Course

Hadjia sat at the table stacked with steaming meals. To her right was a plate of colossal crab meat. At her left was great bowl of soup with an aroma that rolled up her nose. The Amazons had only bowls of sickly gruel. It was some disgusting slop that they all ate with neither pleasure nor distaste.  
Hadjia had spent two weeks on this vessel and hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask them. These women had tree trunks for arms and she thought better than to question their hospitality. Phillipus was always the last to eat. She always took the cook’s pot and filled her women’s bowls with a thick blob of slop and then sit amongst them. Before they ate, the Amazons would sit in silence. A good minute would pass before they would feast.  
Her first night here, Hadjia had made the mistake of eating before realizing their silence and since sat as they did. These women were nothing like Hadjia had seen. They moved in harmony like the gears of machines, yet they were careful, graceful. The cook was a woman by the name, Theoca. She currently sat across from Hadjia.The way she chopped with a knife was like a dance. Every movement, every flex was just what was required.  
Theoca slaved all day in her galley. Preparing food for the crew was simple for her. It was the food for Hadjia that held her down below all day..  
It was at the table that Hadjia finally worked up the nerve. “Captain Phillipus?” she asked, “While I am more than grateful for all that you have done. I have to ask why it is you and your women sit in silence before dinner?”  
Phillipus held her stone visage. “Princess Hadjia,” she said, “Typicly before a meal, we would pray to our goddesses. However, with such an esteemed guest such as yourself, we would find it rude to pay head to Hera and Athena and Aphrodite lest it offend you.”  
“I take no offense,” said Hadjia. “You have done nothing short up give your best. However I find it,” she paused, fearing the next word, “inappropriate.”  
Phillipus paused, she seemed almost hurt. ” In what way?” she asked. The other Amazons had stopped eating. All eyes were fixed on Hadjia.  
“Well,” she said, “as an envoy between our peoples. I think it best that I have a strong grasp on how you all live. I mean shouldn’t I?” There was silence.  
Phillipus cracked the faintest trace of a smile. “What do you propose?” she asked.  
“Theoca,” said Hadjia. She looked across the table and placed her hand over the cook’s. “You are by far one of the greatest chefs I have ever had the good fortune to meet. You work to the bone and with the best of hearts. But I ask you, let me eat like one of the crew.” She looked long into Theoca’s lovely eyes.  
The dining table erupted in laughter. The howls of Amazon shoots and the boards shuddered with them. Captain Phillipus let loose a snort. ”Well,” she said, “that is the first time I’ve heard someone want to eat gruel on this ship. Forgive us princess, we only wished to put our best foot forward.”  
“Also,” said Hadjia, “You need not hold your prayers on my account. Please, do as you wish.”   
The Amazons at the table all lit up in smiles.  
Phillipus was flustered. She rubbed her brow as the little princess cast away their formalities. “Is there anything else that would improve your stay, princess?”  
Hadjia thought for a moment. “I would like to have some duties of the crew.” The Amazons exchanged disbelieving glances.  
“I am glad to see the women of Man’s World are carved from the same stone,” said Philllipus. “You wish to earn your keep, princess. Very well. You’ll learn a thing or two of the sea.”  
Hajia smiled. She didn’t know if that was a possibly a threat.   
One of the amazons raised her cup, “To Princess Hajia, sister of Man’s World!”  
“Hurrah!” they all cheered. All of Theoca’s wondrous cooking was taken away. A new bowl was dropped before her. The sick grey slop they all ate.  
“Now keep in mind, we really only have dinner here. I’m afraid there’ll be no more breakfasts or lunches the rest of the way,” said Phillipus.  
The instant she heard that, Hadjia’s stomach growled.  
The cups all went up again. “To Hadjia!”  
“To Hadjia!”  
And so the Amazons sang. They sang new songs while at the oars. Those songs had been blunt and gruff, like the work. This was something new. They sang with voices of honey, like the youngest of maidens. They sang of high romance that could churn the stars, of great women who judged fairly, of women who loved and were loved. They sang till Philipus broke their chorus and told them to return to the watches. “Hadjia!” she said, “You have the look out. I suggest you get something warmer than that dress of yours. It’s cold at the bowsprit.”  
Hadjia ran to her quarters for new clothes. She wished she had at least touched the food especially made for her. The rumbling of her stomach was already asking when dinner would come again.

 

They had been riding for too long. Vandal had driven them all day, demanding they reach Al Wadi within the week. They had gone two days now without food. Romulus had brought it up and Vandal had struck it down. “We ride on,” he said, “Eat when we reach the city gates.” The only grace they had been granted was Vandal had kept to himself and kept silent. He hadn’t gone on any of his sick, twisted stories about his great service to the church. The Roses finally had a piece of quiet. Nordroni enjoyed these moments. She admired the Spanish country side. She was a long ways from home, farther than anywhere before. The landscape was soothing.  
The Roses had let Vandal fall behind him, the road would not change for a long time. It was here Zephyrus came alongside Romulus, “Sir, forgive me, but do you think it best that we continue to following Lord Savage’s orders?”  
Romulus turned to him, “What do you mean?”  
Zephyrus seemed ready to explode. “He has marched us out here, two weeks now listening to his damned stories of murder and death. He finally shuts his godforsaken maw and now he’s driving us like dogs. My steed will not take another day like this and my stomach has tied itself knots!” he said. “What good service does Lord Benedict IX find so valuable that he send his best fighters with this monster?”  
Romulus tried to hide his smile. “I feel similar,” he said, “but we are to follow the sworn orders of the Pope.”  
“Lord Benedict is hardly someone to take orders seriously. I’ve heard he’s a child of Vandal’s own,” said Koichi, “He only gave us to him to send the man away and we are nothing but a parting gift.”.  
“Exactly!” said Zephyrus, “We’re nothing more than a deterrent to keep him away from his holiness. And the Holy Grail? Really? I’d wager Lord Savage is half-mad as well.”  
“Koichi! Zephyrus!” shouted Romulus. His voice was hard and bitter. The Roses held their tongues. Romulus had been their commander for ten years and they listened to his words. “I agree, whatever bizarre story Lord Savage has dreamt up for himself is leading us down this road. However, Vandal is a formidable fighter, if we want to survive him, we’ll need something more than our own blades  
“Look a village!” shouted Nordroni. Above the tree tops appeared roofs and chimney smoke, the smell of meat roasting was drifting up to them. “Perhaps we could stay there for the night,” she offered. The other Roses all looked at each other with wide eyes.  
“We’ll see if we can strong arm Lord Savage,” said Sir Romulus.

“A village?” said Vandal. The great boulder of a man stroked his harsh beard. He seemed to grumble at the idea.  
“We have been riding for five days with little food and rest,” said Romulus, “My knights are all tired and their patience has been withered thin. I doubt you will reach Al Wadi if you drive them any farther.”  
Vandal groaned, “I knew I should have forced an army out of that disgrace of a grandchild. Very well, we shall stop there.”  
Romulus hid his smile.

The town’s name was Arroyuelo. It was a small quaint place. This was a town thankfully separated from the turmoil of the greater world, likely not a place known for many travelers. As the Roses rode into Arroyeulo, children ran out to meet them. They ogled their armor and steeds with innocent eyes, though Janub did grab a bit tighter to his coin purse. A girl, older than most of them, approached Koichi in front. “Welcome travelers,” she said, “May I be the first to welcome you to Arroyeulo.”  
“Thank you child,” replied Koichi, “Is there an inn nearby? You have no idea how much we five would like a meal and a bed.”  
“Aren’t there six of you?” asked the girl.  
“Only in number,” said Koichi. She produced a coin that made the girl’s eyes grow. “Now where would be a good place to kick up our feet?” The girl lead them through town, the crowd of children growing. They seemed most attracted to Koichi and Nordroni. Despite the pleasant summer day, Nordroni was covered top the bottom in white furs. Her head was hooded under her helm and a scarf covered her lower face. She always dressed like that, no matter the weather. Naturally, many found it odd. Koichi was similarly popular. She wore the armor her father had once worn. She had never felt comfortable in plate or chainmail and preferred her own, samurai armor. It was lighter and better matched her fighting style.  
“Excuse me girl,” said Romulus. “But I see all those horses and wagons. What are those for?”  
“Oh them?” asked the girl, “That’s the caravan of the Calpih Al Jabr of Al Wadi.”  
The Roses were all dumb struck. “I’m sorry, what did you say little girl?” asked Vandal from the back, “I’m short of hearing.”

Vandal and the Roses had walled themselves up in a back room of the local tavern, El Potro Encabritado. The place was cramped. A small stockroom where all the knights sat atop wine barrels. Romulus had the misfortune to have the only see near a hanging pig and kept bating it out of his face. Vandal sat in the middle. “So what now, Lord Savage?” asked Zephyrus impatiently.  
Vandal paused, “It seems God has smiled on us, dear Roses. Al Jabr has been delivered right to us. Though that still does not tell us where the Grail is.” He pointed to Zephyrus and Janub, “You two, you speak Arabic, yes?”  
Zephyrus glared at him. “No, I was raised by the Church, I only lived in the land of the Moors when I was a small child.”  
“I speak it,” said Janub, always playing with his short white beard, “Though these are westerners, they’ll know I am not one of them by my dialect.”  
“Excellent,” said Savage, “I want you to mingle with these travelers. Find out why they are heading North. Al Jabr is a clever and cunning. He wouldn’t have left his city unless it was important and he is not one to let his guard down.”  
“What about the rest of us?” asked Romulus.  
Vandal grinned, “Once we find out their destination, I plan to join this caravan. You shall be working under the guise of a traveling group!” Savage’s enthusiasm echoed alone in the small stockroom.  
Nordroni place her face in her hand and moaned. “For the love of God why?”  
“Well look at you all,” said Vandal, “Five knights from the farthest edges of the world? You’re the perfect attraction, alien yet heroic! It shall be wonderful! Why look at…” Vandal failed to recall Koichi’s name. “Her! Armor like that, and that useless bent sword? We’ll attract viewers for miles! Imagine all the gold we could make!”  
Koichi fought the impulse to draw her useless bent sword.  
“Lord Savage,” said Romulus begrudgingly, “Are we not here to claim what is truly the property of the Church? Not win over gold?”  
“Well,” Vandal paused, “Yes, of course. But you all should keep up appearances. Al Jabr is not someone to underestimate.”  
“Yes you seem to underestimate us,” mumbled Koichi.  
“What was that?” asked Vandal.  
Koichi fidgeted. “I was just wondering why you keep referring to us as the freak show, aren’t you going to do your part my lord?”  
“Well, I’ve certainly stolen shows in my time, but I’m afraid I’ll have to go into hiding for this mission. Al Jabr knows my face, wouldn’t surprise me if his guards know it as well. It’s a chance I cannot take. I shall be operating on my own.” Vandal propped himself up against a crate of vegetables, taking out a carrot. “We’re going to find out what my old friend’s up to.”


	19. Friends and Enemies Part 1

“Well I thought he was funny,” said Exoristos.

“He insulted King Artus’ good name,” replied Sir Ystin.

Exoristos smiled, “Exactly, hilarious.”

The two of them made their way to the town of Arroyeulo. It was a quaint little village, Exoristos had a bit of affection for quiet pockets of the world like this. This type of setting had brought her to Little Spring many years ago. She thinking that, she realized perhaps it was better they were leaving tomorrow. But for tonight, there was reason to celebrate. They would be in Alba Sarum soon, near friends and old acquaintances. Neither she nor Ystin had been there in thirty years and they were both curious for what was ahead. The cause for this celebration was that soon they would be crossing the mountains into France. Much of their gear was too heavy to carry up the Pyrenees. Al Jabr said a proper way to get rid of their supplies would be a celebration and so here they were. The people of Al Jabr’s caravan were told this leg of their journey was a great mark for what was ahead, celebrate now before the true test comes. This town was a good place to rejoice, small, quiet, would benefit from their spent wealth, and full of kind people.

Most of the caravan members were celebrating by their wagons. There were some in the caravan who were not Muslim and wished to celebrate by other means, good business for the local tavern.

“I never did like bards,” said Ystin walking onward, “they tend to be very rude.”

“You really can’t take a joke?” asked Exoristos.

“Not when my liege's honor is the punchline,” Ystin fumed. He straightened his helmet which had turned askew.

Exoristos laughed and slapped him on the back, “Oh, hush up! There'll be plenty of time for you to be morose at the wedding. It’ll be all tradition this or formal that.” She paused, “Well, not quite as traditional as most, but still. Live a little.”

“No,” he replied, “I find my mood far damp for tonight.” He tried to turn away.

“Oh no you don’t.” Ex caught him by the shoulder. She hoisted him into the air and slung him under her arm. “Tomorrow we’re going to be too tired to speak, tonight we enjoy what we have. Your participation is mandatory.”

Ystin was trying to hold back a smile and he bounced up and down in Ex’s arm. “I hate it when you do that,” he said.

“No you don’t.”

 

As happy faces poured into El Potro Encabritado, the Roses all sat in their own shroud of gloom.

“Any sign of Vandal?” asked Janub.

“None,” replied Romulus. He had been cradling his beer for the past ten minutes. He was not one to drink, but looking deep into the foaming mug he thought he spotted escape from Lord Savage’s madness. “I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky.”

“Damned lucky,” added Zephyrus. The others nodded in agreement. “If we stay with him, it won’t be long before we end up dead and I’d place my money he’d do the killing.” Zephyrus pulled himself close into the circle. “Romulus, you know this man is dangerous. If half of what they say about him is true we are signing ourselves to shallow graves. I say we-”

“We what?” Romulus interrupted. “We cast aside our honor and run? Do you want to bet his mission against his pride? If these stories you recall are true, desertion would mean our deaths come more painfully.”

“How?” the archer asked.

“We may escape today,” said Romulus, “But what does that matter to Vandal. He could wait decades, wait until we are nothing but old crows too feeble to carry a sword and then he will strike at us.”

Zephyrus held his head. The others didn’t look too well either.

Romulus took a sip from his mug. “You know I don’t like this situation anymore than you do, but stay strong. If we watch ourselves carefully, we can avoid Vandal’s cruelty and escape with our lives.”

The tavern door flew open with a thunder clap. Mugs and chairs rained down on the floor boards. The Roses all grabbed for dagger hilts and swords while the rest of the patrons gazed with slack jaws. In the doorway stood a living mountain of muscle and bone. She was like a carved statue with great bulging arms and legs like a work horse. Under one arm dangled a young man with a pointed helm. He seemed embarrassed by his carrier’s rude entrance. “You are all a sad lot of wedding guests!” she bellowed, “For the sake of the Gods, drink! Drink and be merry!” She let loose a hail of coins.

“So,” whispered Nordroni, “Who wants to chat it up with her?”

 

The two strangers had blown away the horrid mood of the Roses away like a howling wind. Things had toned down once they had been served. They had heard the tall one’s name as Exoristos. She had yelled it at the bartender. An odd name, none they had heard before. Janub thought it sounded like old Greek. The other, in the shining armor was Sir Ystin. He seemed odd. None of them had heard of him nor recognized his colors so he mustn’t be under a great Lord. His frame and features made them think he was a boy, the Roses were divided if he wasn’t truly a girl in poor disguise. Then again, he was likely British. Nordroni thought she heard some Celtic in his words, but it was still pecking at her mind.

Romulus said these two were good people to engage. They appeared to be from the east of Spain and would take to them and their manners better. While Exoristos was enjoying her ale. Ystin simply sat there looking glum. Janub thought to approach him alone.

“Hello sir knight!” he said, “Mind if I sit here?”

Ystin lit up, “Of course not!”

The old soldier sat himself down next to Ystin. “Forgive me if I am intruding. Unlike my friends, I don’t drink. It makes one lonely during festivities,” said Janub. “Oh, but forgive my informalities, my name is Janub.”

Ystin smiled at the stranger, “Tis no offense, I am Ystin. It is an honor to meet you.” He extended his hand.

Janub took the young person’s hand. He was still confused by his gender. “Simply Ystin? You are dressed too well for a mercenary, surely there must be more to your name.” Who knew what house this knight was sworn under, if he was perhaps of the Holy Roman Empire this mission for the Grail might be easier.

Ystin blushed, “Simply Sir Ystin will suffice. I have no real title beyond that.”

Janub made a face, “Well your sign’s a black bird on yellow, is that German?”

Ystin laughed hardy until he realized Janub might find it rude. “Forgive me,” he said, “I’m hardly a German. I was from Briton, but that was a long time ago. This sign is my own. I am a knight of justice, not lords or houses.”

“A thin breed,” said Janub, looking back at the knights of the Vatican. “Thin indeed. So, what brings you to Spain then, the Moors seem to be handling things very well. T’was much worse some time a go.”

“I’ve got a wedding to attend,” said Ystin. “We’re heading up North to Alba Sarum.”

Janub hid a smile. “Alba Sarum you say? Isn’t that the castle with the two-”

“Yes,” Ystin cut him off, “They’ve been waiting a long time for it as well.”   
“Why wait?” said Janub.

Ystin was about to start until he realized what his answer would be. “I can’t really say, glad to see they’ve worked things out.”

Janub felt a bit guilty pushing farther. Chances are the knight would catch wise to this questions. Ystin seemed like a pleasant young soul, even if his androgyny put him off.

“What about you?” asked Ystin, “What brings you to this little town?”

Janub would rather bite his tongue off than answer, but nonetheless, “We’re the Roses! Traveling entertainers!” He pointed to the table, “My friends over there fare from all corners of the Earth! I from Egypt if you’re curious.” He hoped none of this friends could hear what could come next. “Koichi there with the curved blade is a trick swordsman, no one faster if you ask me. The one with the bow’s Zephyrus, I’ll give you half my purse if you can name one person to match him with a bow!”

“I bet I could,” Ystin snuck in.

“And then there’s me, Janub!” He lift his mace in a bulging arm. “With this mace I would smash down trees! Though that’s been a long while.” Janub stroked his greying tuff of a beard.

“Age does come for us all,” said Ystin.

“Hey,” said Exoristos, “I’m going out for a- woah!” With a great thud, the Amazon crashed to the floor. “I’m alright.”

“Quite the companion you have,” said Janub.

“Trust me,” said Ystin, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

 

“I said I’m alright!” Ex batted away the offered hand.

“If you insist,” replied Koichi.

“Ugh,” said Exoristos. She pulled herself up with the bar and gazed around the tavern.

“Where’s the damned bathroom in this place?” she asked.

“I would assume it’s outside,” said Koichi.

“Where?” Exoristos said.

“The outside,” said Koichi.

Ex’s eyes rode back and forth in their sockets for a moment. “Oh! Thank you!” She waddled off, her hammer still sitting against the bar.

Koichi sighed. “Come on,” she said to Nordroni, “Let’s make us a friend.”

Nordroni followed her outside, lugging behind her the massive hammer. The thing scraped a great scar in the floorboards as she dragged it. How could someone carry this thing? Outside, she saw Exoristos had Koichi in a hold.

“Thought you could get the jump on me, eh?” she slobbered out. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the likes of an-”

Nordroni ran her spear into Exoristos’ foot.

“Yeeow!” the behemoth screamed. She flung Koichi to the ground and hopped around on one leg.

Koichi wiped the mud off her face. She looked up at Nordroni, furious. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had her” Nordroni responded. Exoristos continued to thunder about on her other foot. The spear hadn’t been driven deep, just between the big and second toe. She  would probably limp a little, but that would be the worst of it. “Now let’s get that much off,” Nordroni said. Deaf to the howling drunken warrior woman in front of her, she took out a cloth and wiped off some of the dirt that still clung to Koichi’s face.

Koichi was forced to smile, “Thank you.”

“Is everything alright?” The one called Ystin had stuck his head out the door. He saw his partner jumping about with a spear in her foot then the two women nearby. “Ah, alright. Play nice you lot.” He closed the tavern door behind him.

“Such strange people here,” said Koichi.

Exoristos’ foot came crashing down. She towered over the two knights. Her eyes burning like charcoal, she leaned over them, Nordroni’s spear in one hand. Beer was think on her breath. She pointed to her foot, oozing with blood. “Did you do this?” she slid through her teeth. The women kneeling below her were fixed in place. Exoristos looked down at them and saw they weren’t frozen in fear. The easterner had a hand to her curved sword. The Scandinavian was reaching for something in her pouch. Ex smiled. She had met fighters.She let loose a bellowing laugh. “Oh, well done! Granted, I could have taken you both any night twice as drunk but well done!” she finished off with another chuckle.

Koichi and Nordroni looked at each other in bafflement.

She ripped the spear from her foot without a flinch. “Your weapon,” Exoristos offered. It still had the woman’s blood on it.

Nordroni took in and put in back on her back.

“I like you two! I can never stand the crowds in these damned taverns, all men braying like mules and the only half intelligent people to talk to are the whores. Come on now!” she said hoisting them put to their feet. “I’d love to hear what bouts you’ve battled. But first, get me to a physician. This foot’s going to be a bastard up the Pyrenees.” Ex stood between them, holding each around the shoulder and headed them towards the caravan.

  
  
  



	20. Friends and Enemies Part 2

The bandages on Vandal’s face stunk of dung. He shed himself of the clothes he wore from Rome, now dressed in a local beggar’s garments. He had no desire to be found out whilst amongst these travelers. If Al Jabr was their leader, chances would be they knew his face all too well. No one would think him to dress as a lowly vagrant.  He bowed his knees and hunched his back, and taking up a walking stick he observed the dancing and singing travelers in the flicker of their camp fires. There were many of them. This caravan heading wherever it was going was large, at least four hundred and fifty people plus guards. That was good. It meant he could sneak in and not be found easily. The caravan had taken up a clearing off the road near town. Vandal hid in behind the tree line, observing these people. Somewhere here was Al Jabr and the sooner he found him, the better. 

The light was leaving, but he finally made out the old man. His old white robes and pointed pale beard made him a ghost in the firelight. While the young danced and sang the night away, he stared deep into the burning coals. An old man withered by age. Served him right. That old fool thought he could cross Vandal Savage, had he made a poor mistake. The Holy Grail must be somewhere in the camp, Al Jabr would not have let it far from his sight. He had to find where among these people he was hiding it.

It was then Vandal saw a pair of servant boys carrying a great bundle of hay from off the road.  They dropped it before a clusters of work horses. Then they moved about the camp, feeding pack mules and patrol horses their meal. With their burden still heavy, they made their last stop at a single solitary horse. Unlike the others, it was not tied down. It had no reins to speak of. Even in the dimming light, Vandal could see it had a beautiful white coat as pure as fresh cream. A wonder it was left unattended. A stallion of this caliber just left alone would attract many greedy eyes. He noticed that the horse had a blanket draped over his back half. Strange. The boys dropped the pile of hay to the creatures feet. It craned its neck down and Vandal saw the peaks of wings emerge from under the blanket.

The pegasus. Ystin’s pegasus. Sir Ystin was here. Vandal cringed. This made things difficult. Stealing from under Al Jabr’s nose would be trouble enough, but with Sir Ystin around the challenge grew three-fold. That boy was more stubborn than half of Scotland and would rather die than let Vandal claim the Grail. Oh no. Vandal’s stomach suddenly went from a knot to a slithering mass of snakes. If Ystin is here than that very well mean-

Then Exoristos walked into the camp. Damn. Damn! DAMN! Vandal’s will was truly tried as he held in a thousand different curses. It was if his mouth had turned to dung the second he saw her. Three of them now! Three! This just became more and more tiring. Vandal figured next why not have the Horsewoman, King Arthur, and half the Byzantine empire come stomping through! Damn his luck. Finally he gathered himself. These three are easier to play with than childrens’ toys. A small obstacle at best. He had just grown impatient over these long years. He had better assess the full scenario.

It was then he noticed the Exoristos was limping towards Al Jabr with...the Scandinavian and the Easterner at her sides? What in the world was going on now? Truly the Roses couldn’t have turned on him so quickly. They may resent him, but their honor clearly exceeded good conscience.

Exoristos was talking with Al Jabr. Judging by her mannerisms, she has been drinking. Whether this was a good or a bad thing was uncertain. She was pointing at her foot. Al Jabr pointed her off to another campfire with some older men. The female Roses introduced themselves to Al Jabr. The old man didn’t seem frightened by anything, so they must not have turned on him. Considering who their opposition was, he wouldn’t have blamed them. This was good. If those two were making good friends of Exoristos, he’d have a better chance of taking the Grail. There was that saying Tzu once told him, “keep friends and enemies close” or something like that. A smarter man would know to make neither friend nor foe of Vandal Savage, both would be the cause of your death. This scenario was still difficult for him to call. A few more days gathering information would be required before moving in.

Footsteps came from behind him. Damn his luck again. Someone likely walked off to excrete and now they were heading his way. Vandal lay flat on his belly, perhaps he wouldn’t be seen. Not with the cards he’d been dealt with as of late, he realized. The crunch of leaves  was coming closer. Vandal put his face to the ground. The firelight had ruined his night vision. Perhaps he could spot this person before they saw him. Then he remembered he would be between them and the fires as well, damn it all. He reached for one of the daggers under all his vagrant garments. As the person came closer, Vandal realized the footsteps belonged to someone small. The sound and pace they made must have been someone with a light frame and small stride. At least smaller than Ystin’s, so there was that to be thankful for. The sound of a twig snap underfoot was like a cannon blast. He knew the person was right behind him. Then the footsteps stopped. Nothing. His face still to the ground, hesitant to move, the forests were an empty abyss with no light or sound.

“What are you doing there on the ground?” someone asked. The voice was young, definitely not a Moor or a Spaniard, it sounded rather British. 

Vandal palmed the dagger, prepared to throw it as he looked around. Before him was a young boy, a blonde bowl haircut and deep blue eyes. He was dressed in purple regalia with gold trim, no discernable household that he knew of. Atop his head was a likewise purple and gold trimmed cap. He looked like his mother had dressed him. If he killed the little runt, chances are someone would come looking for him and Vandal couldn’t risk that. He slid the dagger up his sleeve. Time for a performance. He put age into his voice, added some gravel and fatigue. Perhaps this young noble would take pity on him.

“Oh, oh, child! I am sorry to disturb you! I am but a vagrant, I travel to and fro with not a coin to keep me warm or fed. My eyes don’t work right you see. I can only view a range so far before it all turns to a blur. But you, you I can see you are a young man of fine tastes, even in this terrible darkness. Please, don’t mind me. I only heard the jolly makings of those people over there and thought I could pretend to be one with their company. And-”

“Enough.” The boy’s tongue was like a sword of ice, cutting and cold. “What is your name?”

“I my true name is Vindol, but everyone calls me Bove, like a bovine. I am only good for farm labor you see,” Vandal showed the boy a bulging arm.

The child laughed at him. Vandal’s pride was not known for its limits, but if it kept him from Exoristos and Ystin he would have to let his rage only burn within. The boy’s laugh was horrid. It was like the strangling of cats played on a worm eaten fiddle. Damn this boy. Finally he shut his horrid mouth. “I see, Bove, you are quite strong. I don’t suppose you speak well.”

“Oh but I do my liege! I know as many languages as there are counties! Name me a place and I shall give you its proper tongue!” By all that is good, if this boy wanted to hire him…

The snide little sliver of dung smiled, “Very well Bove, I think I may have use of your service. I am traveling with these Moors and their tongue is nonsense, would you like to work for food and clothes?”

“Very much my master, but what is your name?” Vandal asked.

“Call me Prince Medraut.”

 

Exoristos held out her foot to the doctor. She was a bulbous middle aged woman with her first greying hairs. She sent her daughter to retrieve her tools and observed the damage. “My, my,” she said, “So how did someone like you end up with a wound like this?”

Exoristos said nothing. She just gave too joyful smile, pointed to Nordroni with one hand, and slapped her hard on the shoulder with the other.

“I see,” said the doctor. She held the foot to the camp fire. She washed the blood away with some water and looked at the wound. “Well the good news is your friend here was very careful. No major bone or muscle damage. Your foot will be an inconvenience for a few weeks but that will be the worst of it.” Her daughter arrived with her bag of tools. With a clean cloth, she wiped away all the grass and dirt that clung to Exoristos’ foot. With a mirror, she directed light into the cut and looked around, prying and poking with a set of tweezers. “Darn this light,” she said. She pulled from inside Exoristos’ wound, a small pebble, about the size of a small tooth. “Next time please avoid catching grime in open cuts, in my long decades of service, it’s not something I consider wise.” She wrapped the foot up in bandages. “You wear sandals, don’t you? I really won’t suggest open toed shoes while wearing this,” she pointed to Exoristos’ lack of armor. “Especially up the mountains. I’ll have my daughter ask the armorer to get some decent clothes.”

Exoristos drunkenly rolled her eyes, nearly losing her balance and falling backwards on her rear end.

“A thank you will suffice,” said the doctor. “After three days, or if the bandage starts to come off I want to see you again. This isn’t a major injury but it could lead to infection. Understood.”

“Yes madam,” replied Ex. She was still drunk but not trying to be rude. “Thank you very mushhh.” She kept hissing for a bit more. Then she hugged the doctor with all her strength. “You’re the best friend a warrior could have! Thank you!” She stood up, lifting the small plump woman into the air. Ex spun around in circles a couple of times before planting the doctor down between Nordroni and Koichi while taking the doctor’s seat.

The doctor turned to the two women, “She might have lost a bit of blood, added in with the alcohol, I suggest you two keep an eye on her for the evening.”

“Will do,” said Nordroni.

“Come one ladies!” said Ex, standing up, “Let’s find some food!”

 

The stag’s meat roasted nicely on the spit. It’s juicy flesh bubbled up and sweated delicious juice. Prince Medraut held a great sized leg in his bare hands. He ripped the tender meat from the bones. Anything he disliked he spat out and gave to his new man servant. “Eat up Bove,” he said.

Vandal fist were clenched in rage. His veins ready to burst in bloody fury. The little twirp was feeding him rejects? He was Vandal damned Savage. The little spawn barely old enough to know a woman would no’t treat him like a common dog. He could ring the little dung string’s neck and roast him on the spit, live.

“Ha, ha, ha! *snort*” A massive woman collapsed next to him and drunkenly smacked him in the back of the head. “Greetings old man! What name do you go by? I use Exoristos, the lonely Amazon, exiled champion of the Island of Paradise!”

Ringing the blonde chicken’s neck would have to wait, Vandal realized.

“This is Bove. He’s my servant. I own him now.” Medraut’s voice was like a saw cutting through Vandal’s soul. “He’s awfully sad but his company is decent.” The prince took another mouthful of succulent meat. “You seem underdressed. Are you a wench?”

Exoristos said nothing. She just stared at the boy. Her unbreaking gaze silenced the whole camp. The only sound was the crackling of firewood. Her face glowed auburn in the light. She leaned in close to the boy. Her breath rank and foul. “What name do you go by, child?”

“I...I...I…” stammered Medraut, his jaw like jelly.

“Don’t mind the boy,” spoke a broken old voice. Vandal did not look at either of them, his ‘blind’ eyes gazed deep into the fire. “Prince Medruat is young and proud but good hearted. He has only never seen a woman as great as yourself, judging by your voice at least.” Vandal cringed. He may hate Medraut, but letting Exoristos get to the little prince would only make things worse. He would be soon found out in the daylight.

Exoristos glared at the boy with the ugly pig nose. The prince was breathing heavy. He feared any breath may be his last. He hoped not since his pants were now properly soiled. “Prince Medraut,” she said, “I shall remember that name. She sat back up straight and continued talking with Koichi and Nordroni.

Vandal let loose a small smile as Medraut’s hand had found itself clenched to his sleeve. The boy was a royal pain in his ass, but he was about as grown as a fawn.


	21. Friends and Enemies Part 3

As soon as another tankard of ale was placed on their table, Zephyrus swiped it up and chugged it down in one move. “This is horse shit,” he said to Romulus as he wiped away the foam, “Absolute horse shit. And it’s all your fault.”

Romulus sat opposite him, his expression grudgingly confirming Zeph’s comment. The Compass Roses had ridden together for over ten years. They were the divine servants of God called upon to serve His justice. Yet here they were all the way in Spain helping Vandal Savage with some petty vendetta, supposedly to find the Holy Grail. As if they could be that fortunate. With the exception of Janub, Romulus’ knights were not always made aware the true meanings of their missions. For every mission where they had to find out an occasional vampire or mad warlock, two were nothing but the current Pope’s twisted doings. They had killed many commoners said to be possessed by demons.  He shuddered to think how many were actually the case. He sometimes desired to drink his bad memories away but as their leader, he thought it best to keep his mind untainted. To be perfectly honest, this mission was like many other ones for their Order, the other knights just didn’t know it.

Zephyrus downed another tankard. “That damned Vandal is just as bad as half the monsters we’ve slain. The only difference is he supposedly works in the service of God. So Benedict claims, like he actually know what God would say. I’ve no idea why they chose that dung brained little twerp.” He looked over to Janub and the knight Sir Ystin who were sharing a hearty laugh. “And now what? We’re here to make friends of Moors and their company? Dear Lord this is pathetic.”

Romulus made no comment of how Zephyrus’ skin would have fooled anyone else to think he was a Moor. Usually that would be saved for Koichi or Janub. He did nothing to stop him releasing his frustrations. The people in the tavern were making more than enough merry to keep their conversation private. Romulus signed to the bartender for more ale. Zephyrus was only getting started..

Zeph rest his face on his elbow which was sliding down the table. “Remember Paris?” he asked, “That was a good time. All those fey creatures stealing children off the streets. And what did we do? We made them pay, all of them. Damn monsters stealing the young. Or those witches in Sicily. Remember how the one tried to eat your face off? God that was glorious.”

Romulus finally spoke, “I wish we could always have such grand adventures. The world would seem the finer place.”

Zephyrus grabbed his hand. His smile and gazey eyes lit up the room. Then he overheard Janub and the Shining Knight talking again. He kicked his chair backwards and stood up. “Let’s get out of here, I’m feeling sick.”

Romulus led him into the cool night air. The tempest of chatter closed behind them. They stood alone in the dark country town.

“Curses, I’m so damn tired,” slurred Zephyrus as he kissed Romulus.

It had caught Romulus off guard, hence there was a stall before he pushed Zeph away. “Zephyrus…” he started.

“No, don’t bring up that idiocy with me,” Zeph replied. “Don’t go on about your damned knightly hood and chivalry.” He stopped, trying to find his words. “You, me, Koichi, everyone. We’re just fakes, aren’t we? That’s it isn’t it? Lie as you might, I know what it is we really do. We aren’t heroes, we’re fancy dressed sellswords. The ‘Voice of God’ is nothing but a pampered child, same with the last one, and the one before that. And we just tap our heels and go off and don’t come back until we have some pagan child’s head on a stick. Look at us Romulus. We’re nothing but frauds. I can live with being a fraud, I wish I couldn’t. But this is the last straw. We work for a man who walks into the Vatican and bites the damned Pope’s finger off and we follow him to the ends of the Earth, is that it?”

“Zephyrus, I-”

“That is it.” he said, pointing his finger at him. “Yet you try to act all chival when you’re nothing but a thug. You’re no more a knight than I am, so stop pretending to act one. I know damned well how you feel.” Zephyrus stopped. He was fuming. Panting as he kept pointing his accusing finger at Romulus.

Romulus was silent.

Zeph turned around. He kicked a pile of something on the ground, sending horse dung flying. “We’re not knights. It’s time we stopped pretending we were,” and he walked off into the darkness.

 

In the camp of Al Jabr’s caravan, festivities played on through the night. Campfires burned with the stars and at one in particular an awkward scenario was playing out. Exoristos was rattling off stories to Koichi and Nordroni, unaware that they were spies of Vandal Savage. Across from her, with his face hidden under bandages, Vandal himself was playing the role of servant to a pampered young prince.

Prince Medraut ripped a strip of meat off a calf leg. The juices ran down his weak chin and stained his clothes. “Bove,” he said to Vandal. “I am bored, sing me a song.”

Vandal clamped down on his pride which had been set ablaze by this tiny worm. He wished he could ram the cow leg down his throat and cut out his tongue, but at the moment his hands were tied. He thought he could sneak into Al Jabr’s caravan but now that Exoristos, and likely Sir Ystin were among him, he would need a different route. If he let Medraut near any of them, they would surely sniff him out. “My great lord,” he said with much added age and gravel to his voice. “I have no heart for songs. Even the sweetest melody turns sour on my tongue.”

“Then sing something foreign, not proper speak. It won’t matter what it sounds like then.” The boy returned suckling on his meat before putting it over the fire to roast again.”

Vandal tried to remember something. He recalled a song, an old song. It was a song from his childhood, before humans had formed real vocabularies. It was simple, though he had forgotten what the words had once met. He sang. He sang a song made of grunts and growls. A chant that went with the success of his tribe’s hunt, a barbaric ballad of triumph. He did not know what the words are but he knew them all by heart. In that moment he remembered his childhood, horrible as it was, but it was his. The song was short and just repeated itself over and over. Eventually Medraut told him to cease as it was annoying him.

Across the fire, Koichi and Nordroni were chatting with Exoristos. They were unaware they sat next to one of their greatest obstacles. Exoristos was a warrior that came once every few hundred years. Vandal recalled the time she held off an army of sword bearing dragons on her own. If things turned bad and swords were drawn, he doubted they would stand much of a chance with her. He had to warn them. 

He met eyes with Nordroni. He kept them fixed until her a snap of firewood made her gaze linger his way. She saw him looking dead on at her. Good. He directed her with his pupils down to his hand hanging across his knee. Then he signaled her. “Beware the fighter.” He hoped she had learned how to talk with her hands. Her expression implied she understood. “She knows me. She does not like me. She is very strong. She is a pagan. She will try to stop us.”

Nordroni understood him.  She turned back to Exoristos but spoke with her hands. “She is with a knight. He is short.. Wears gold armor. Our south man is with him.”

Vandal realized the south knight was Janub. “He knows me. He doesn’t like me. Will stop us too. Did you see others?”

Nodroni signed back. “Do not know.”

“Woman with red hair and bow. Man with black and white hair. Woman with long black hair and large-”

Nordroni cut him off, “No.”

“Excuse me,” said Exoristos, “I need to take a piss.” As the Amazon wandered off, Vandal noticed that her stride was much surer than when she had arrived. That woman could go through drink faster than him. If she sobered up, she might recognize him. A cold sliver of lightning crept down his back.

Well at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the others. That would make things messy. Nordroini and Koichi pretended to look into the fire. Koichi was watching his signs too. He continued, “I act as a beggar for the boy.” He pointed his head at Medraut. “I want to keep this up. We go with the caravan. Find out what they are doing. Talking may be tougher in the future. Keep the boy away from her and him, I may be at his side. Relay all of this to your leader.”

Koichi and Nordroni both signed “Yes.” before Exoristos came lumbering back.

The night continued a bit uneventful. Exoristos continued sharing stories with her new found friends. Zephyrus found their group and asked to join his friends. Exoristos was hesitant, but allowed it. The archer seemed to be in a foul mood. When a log in the fire snapped right in Medraut’s face, the boy yelped and fell over onto his arse. All, save for Vandal, laughed at him. Medraut got up and called them all commoners who had no right to make fun of him before he walked off in a huff, Vandal following close behind. Vandal’s heart quaked when he saw Ystin walking toward him, but the knight had no interest in the Prince’s apparent servant and just walked by to meet with Exoristos. He gave a small sigh of relief. This journey he had joined was not going to be easy.

Medraut led him to a wagon. The boy had one all to his own it seemed. When Vandal put one step inside, he knew the boy was traveling alone. Clothes and garbage covered the floor and crept up the walls. The whole place stunk of unwashed clothes. Must have been the first time traveling alone. “First order of business tomorrow is I want this all cleaned up before we move out. It’s unbecoming of me,” Medraut explained.

Vandal felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Yes, my young lord,” he said through his teeth. “Is there anything else you would require of me?”

“Groom and feed the horses as well,” added Medraut, “Those puerile Moors don’t know one side of a brush from another. I won’t be riding into Alba Sarum looking like this.” The spoiled Prince removed his cap and cape before stopping to give a sick look at Vandal. “Well? I’m going to bed, leave me.” He motioned to the door.

Vandal’s eyes burned with anger when he spotted the comfortable and posh bed that had been unslept in. He dreaded asking the question, “Certainly m’lord! But where shall I sleep?” He regretted it before he had finished.

Medraut twisted his face into something inhuman before screeching out, “Where the hell would I know? Just get out, sightless welp!” The young prince almost threw a wooden training sword but stopped before he let go. He dropped the toy blade to the ground and gave a sorrowful sigh. Then he looked up, infuriated that Vandal was still there. He pointed a finger at the door, “Out!”

Vandal, adding this to the list of insults the boy had given to him, kindly bowed and walked out. What a truly pathetic child, he thought. He considered going back to the camp fires but didn’t wish to risk meeting any of his old acquaintances. Instead he stole some hay from a cart and set it down underneath Medraut’s wagon. He wished his rage could pierce through the floor and burn the boy to ash. Perhaps in the city, he could kill him and blame it on some bandits. He heard Exoristos laughing off somewhere in the darkness. At least someone was having a good time. He laid his head back and welcomed sleep where he was a rightful king, burning them all at the stake.

 

Dawn pierced through the small square hole in Exoristos’ wagon. She tried to wrestle her eyes from the sun’s calling but found it no use. She pried her lids open to meet the new day. Her head was still throbbing from last night. It was then she noticed that Ystin was gone. His spot next to her vacant and the mattress was damp and cool. She remembered he had had those dreams again. The ones where his Camelot burned by from his own fire. Obviously nothing but bad dreams. She got up and dressed, slipping on her bracelets and heading out. 

Damned if it wasn’t early. The smoke of the campfires were still coming forth in slivers. Some new ones were being started for breakfast. That snot nosed Medraut was complaining about the food to his massive man servant, poor oaf. Vanguard was nearby, a blanket over his backside hiding his wings. “I don’t suppose you know where Ystin went?” she asked. The pegasus stared at her vacantly. “Didn’t think so.” She walked off in search. 

Going through the camp, she had not had much time to speak with the women in the caravan that shared Al Jabr’s creed. She knew very little of the religions of Man’s World and they had all but forgotten about her’s. These women hid much of themselves and gave side glances at her. She displayed much of her legs, arms, and midriff out of custom. In Themyscira, the rules of modesty were very different. Once she had taken to a simply full body robe, perhaps she should consider it again. She saw an elderly woman playing with a small child. Approaching she said, “Greetings sister, I was wondering if you’d-” She was cut off as the child grabbed hold of her leg, struggling to reach the full way around her calf and smiling up at her. “Um…” she tried to find her words as the woman pulled the child away.

“Tamu!” she exclaimed, “I am sorry madam, she didn’t mean-”

“That’s alright,” said Exoristos.”I was only wondering if by chance you’ve seen a knight, about so high, small build, likely wearing yellow scale?”

“I think I saw someone like that head into town. She was carrying a sword with her.”

“He,” corrected Exoristos, begrudgingly, “And thank you.”

The woman nodded and said it was no problem before shifting her focus back to the child. Exoristos struggled to deal with that little detail about Ystin. Despite physical evidence to the contrary, he insisted he was a man. It had led to some ill words between them many years ago and she still had issues with it. Of course that had all been that blasted diamond she had burdened herself with. A trinket of Lucifer’s that brought out one’s bitter nature, nothing more.

Walking into town, she heard the clanging of steel upon steel and saw Ystin practicing with that man from last night. The faced off upon the crest of a small hill. Their eyes locked on target, they slowly swayed back and forth, prepared to strike.

“Greetings madam,” said the man, not taking his eyes off the knight.. Ex believed his name to be Janub. “I was wondering if perhaps you would-”

Ystin leapt upon him with a frenzy of steel. His sword whistled through the air. In the dawn, his sweeps were made of pure sunlight. Janub was old, but he was keeping pace. Ystin gave him no time to parry. He just attacked, attacked, and attacked. Ystin’s form weakened. He hammered down on his foe. Striking like a blacksmith upon an anvil. There was fire in his eyes, and something else Exoristos hadn’t scene in a long time, anger. Janub was skilled, but the Shining Knight was bearing down on him. 

Ex shouted for him to stop and broke into a run. 

Letting loose a frenzied scream, Ystin’s attacks opened him up. Janub gave a light cut to his cheek followed with a slap on the side with his flat end.

Ystin became himself again. Panting like mad, he dropped his sword in the dirt. He fell to his knees. His eyes were stuck in stock terror.

“You’re a truly skilled fighter, Ystin, I’ll say that much.” Janub sheathed his blade. He crouched down next to Ystin. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you try to cleave me in half?”

Ystin responded with a series of wheezing pants, waving his hand about as if it meant anything.

“Chances are it was another nightmare,” supplied Exoristos.

Janub looked up at her with curious eyes. “What in God’s name does he dream about to fight like a monster?”

Ex crossed her arms and turned her back to stone.“That’s his own business.”

“I’m sorry,” rasped Ystin. “Please forgive me. I was not myself, Janub.” He stopped to pant some more. He collapsed on his back and gazed up at the bright blue sky. “Sometimes,” he started, “I dream of my old home. It’s a long way away, farther than you can think. I dream that my home is on fire. The Questing Queen mounts the heads of my friends and liege on pikes. Children are hunted down for sport and women are thrown in cages for...the reason anyone does such terrible things. All the magic of my home is sucked out and consumed by dark wizards. I feel myself cut in two. I am left to die with a lance run through me. But I deserve it, because the fall of my kingdom is my own doing.” Ystin whimpered as he finished. Tears down his face as Ex comforted him in her massive muscular arms.

“Good God that is terrible, my friend,” said Janub. “I know little of what visions come to the dreaming, even less what they mean. But I do know a few remedies for bad dreaming. It’s only some basic field medicine, but it might do something.”

Exoristos looked up at him with Ystin balled up in her arms. “He’s tried plenty of things,” she said, “but thank you all the same. Come on Ystin, let’s get breakfast.” Ex picked up Ystin’s sword for him. She helped Ystin to his feet and led him back towards the camp.

 

Janub found himself alone on the small hilltop. The two probably deserved to be alone. He should report this back to Romulus. This Sir Ystin was a most peculiar knight. He wondered just where this caravan he was joining would take him.


	22. Hollow Halls

In the county of Wiltshire, there is little to talk about. The children of this countryside are told of the fantastic stories, as all children are, but they have never seen it with their own eyes. Except in one case. High upon the hilltop rest the great pillars. The adults say this place is alive with magic, raw, dark magic. No animals approach it and no plants dare grow there. Their kind knows better than to trend on sacred ground. The lonely hill is left alone, out of place in the age of man. This place was of a darker age, when men were still like savage beast. No one can tell if they were made by man or some other impossible intelligence. These great pillars remain as a reminder that there are mechanisms far greater than meager mortal affairs. The people of Wiltshire call this place Stonehenge.

There are only a few that dare to break the circle’s isolation. In the black of night, they climb the hill, their names left at home. There is no need for them here. They cover their faces and give Druidic rites of old. They bring torches and papers. They look up at the stars to find what the future may hold for this small orb cast in a sea of nothingness. The Stonehenge serves as a gateway to the abyss, what lies beyond human understanding. A mixture of science and sorcery guides their quills. Magic and mathematics flow together as one great river that falls upon parchment. Their volumes of knowledge has grown vast, they write down events that shall come: the rise and falls of Camelot that will be, the faces of the king, the crowns the Queens shall bare, and the devil spawned mage, Merlin who spins it all.

But tonight, the stars are wrong. Cast about like marbles. They align in ways twisted and wrong. The great prophecies have been denied. The universal clockwork is broken. One hooded woman who leads their research has the druids record every single faulty star. Like hungry dogs fighting over scraps they take whatever they can find. This is all so very wrong. They have only hours to achieve the work of years. No one dares guess what will happen after the sun comes up and the great warnings written out for all the world to see are wiped away. Finally, they have amassed the cosmos into one form and present it to their leader. She goes over their arcane letters with a hungry eye, every last detail is to be memorized. So much bloodshed will come, far away lands shall burn in the fires of their war. The kingdoms shall be unbalanced and the once and future Queen shall rise. All are more terrible than the last yet she must read them without falter. It is then, she comes to a final sentence, that she cannot bear the weight of the truth. She falls to her knees ready to cry at the horror. Her druid servants know what she must do. She must prepare for a long journey. Though she is working against the very machinery of the cosmos, she must fight it all the same. With that, she leaves the Giant’s Stones on the hilltop and makes her way south. It was then Hazm woke up.

Hazm was freezing in cold sweat. His heart was thumping in his chest. What a horrible dream. He couldn’t recall it, but he knew it was not something he should have seen. He was here now, back in his chambers in Al Wadi. The first light of dawn was breaking. Another day in the lonely palace.

Hazm dressed himself for breakfast and got into his chair. The guards outside his room opened the door at the sound of his wheels. They made a “clack, clack, clack” as they rolled over the floorboards. When his men offered him a push, he rejected. He never let himself be wheeled. Outside, the way was much bumpier, the wood floor of his chambers gave way to stone. He would bounce up and down the high towers which were much younger than the rest of the palace. 

Hazm’s father had thought it foolish that he take up a room so high up. Any room closer to the ground would be of a greater convenience, but Hazm refused. When the time came that he must take on his father’s duties to the city, what he lacked in brains would be made up for in mass. He did not have his father’s cunning mind that could keep up with all the hustle of this city. Instead, Hazm rolled himself so that his arms would grow big. He realized it was not much, but he had few alternatives. He was not a true politician, or inventor, or mathematician. He was just a young man with the headstuff of a child. Only poems and songs filled his mind, much to his father’s disappointment. But to see a leader, humbled by his weakness, to strive the do his own would inspire the people and intimidate his rivals. He was not someone to be pushed around by neither maids nor merchants. Hazm would be his own man.

He came to the high tower stairs, they wrapped around the outside while a clear open shot peered down to the bottom. A small gap was cut in the banister at each floor with a pulley and rope running all the way up to the top. Hazm  pulled out a stick with a hook from the side of his chair. It extended as he pulled the two ends of it apart, reaching to six feet. He would have been so tall. He reached out and grabbed the ropes that hung down the center of the tower. The pulleys up above rolled as Hazm pulled the weight end down. 

At the other end was a flat wooden frame made of four boards with metal fixtures. They formed a square where they crossed but two boards extended out farther in two directions from the frame. The ends of these boards were fastened to strong rope with metal rings. To one side of the square was a stick with a metal handle. It was a simple design, but it served its purpose.

When the frame rose to Hazm’s level. He stopped and pulled the frame onto the stone floor. He turned his chair around and while gazing over his shoulder, backed up onto the frame. The metal fixtures locked to his wheels. With a single pull of the rope he was lifted into the air. His chair fixed on the frame swung out over the several floor drop. He swayed for a bit, but the ropes held him exactly in place. Next Hazm grabbed the lever to his right. By applying pressure to the metal handle, the pulleys let him slide down the center of the tower. His guards followed down the stairs. 

The speed of his descend was entire within his hands. Hazm liked to hold onto the moment where he dangled high up in the air. He remembered the sensation he had felt, looking down on the giants from the hot air balloon but a month ago, the trees like matchsticks below him and the wind blowing his hair into a complete mess. He frowned on its passing.

“Good morning to you sir,” said Rahnu. The old master of arms smiled at him. “I hope you slept well.”

The joy of the descend was lost. “Not so I’m afraid,” said Hazm, “Another nightmare.”

Rahnu began walking down with him. Hazm thought to slow down as the master of arms struggled his way down the steps. “Understandable,” he said, “Your father told me of similar dreams when he took control. He thought politics would be the death of him. So many damned traders were still loyal to your grandfather.” He chuckled, “Good riddance if you ask me.”

“These dreams are different,” Hazm replied as the chair cradle clacked on the bottom of the tower. He sprung the locks from his wheels and rolled to meet Rahnu. “I dreamt of hooded druids reading signs from the stars in Britain,” he whispered in Rahnu’s ear.

The master of arms his white muzzle. “I would suggest you seek a doctor if the nature of these dreams concern you so.” The made their way out the tower door and into the central palace hall. “There is much weighing on your shoulders.” 

Servants darted about the room carrying clothes for washing and food for breakfast. A parade of new finds of Hazm’s father were being brought in though they wouldn’t be observed for several more weeks. Guards stood alert at every doorway. The stray cats walked about the shuffling maze of legs, uncaring of the chaos around them. All these faces here in the palace, and without Father or Hadjia around, Hazm realized how alone he really was. 

The train of boxes and crates for his father stopped to let him by. As Hazm was about to enter into the dining hall. A loud crash shook the palace. One of the heavy crates had broken through. The wooden bottom laid crushed on the floor, its contents on top, as the servants held onto the sides. The train of boxes continued around them, lead by a man with the manifest. Other servants went to help with the mess in the front hall. Hazm noticed a pair of metal boots protruding from the inside of the box and curiosity won him over.

As the servants were contemplating what to do Hazm’s approach silence them. They awaited his instructions. Hazm stared at the metal boots on the floor. They were gold and silver from what he could tell. No wonder it broke the box. He did not know what possessed himself to do so, but he ordered to see what was inside. The servants, with no Al Jabr to tell them otherwise, did just that. The lifted the massive crate up and unveiled what they had been carrying.

The hall was blinded when the sun touched the treasure within. The entire room was alit with shining gold and silver. It was a suit of armor, more beautiful than anything Hazm had laid eyes on. It towered nearly nine feet tall and was as untarnished as a new minted coin. At one side was a glorious sword, far too great for anyone to lift lest they was as strong as four men. In its left hand was a massive shield, as big as a door. The only insignia was a box containing a lightning bolt. It was then that Hazm noticed the visor. A thin t-shaped slit was all there was. Something so small wouldn’t make any sense, unless you were to fight almost blind. Yet it made sense to him. 

The man with the manifesto arrived, “I am terribly sorry my liege, it’s this French wood, it’s weaker than kindling. I’ll have this dealt with before you’re finished with breakfast.”

“That’s quite alright,” said Hazm. “Where did my father acquire this armor?”

The man scrolled through the paper. “Here it is sir, he said. “Says here it’s the former armor of one of the Silent Knights. They must have been Norwegian if they come that big.”

The man’s words echoed in Hazm’s mind, “the Silent Knights.” He had heard that name before. Maybe it was from a story he had read, possibly. But he knew what it meant. The Silent Knights were living metal suits to uphold the order in the afterlife for those from Britain. This was a protector of Avalon.


	23. Bad Magic Part 1

More and more people were coming into Alba Sarum everyday. When Sarah would come back from a morning run with Brickwedge, she’d see strongmen from Rus, chefs from Egypt, dancers from Byzantine, or scribes from Leon. The city had become electric in the passing weeks as the royal wedding approached. She was amazed to see so many people coming to see the Princesses, she did not know they were so well known. So many people from all the corners of the Earth were coming to the city that the inn rooms were filling up quickly. It would only be a matter of time before they’d start camping outside the ramparts in tents. She and Brickwedge had earned a chance to talk with many of their steeds. Many were surprised she could talk at all. Brickwedge had occasionally used this to woo the occasional Arabian mare but to little avail. Jason and Xanadu were also swept up in the joy that filled the streets. The Princesses had forbidden that Etrigan arrive within their walls and Jason seemed quite elated at the prospect. Xanadu spent much time with the Princesses. She did not speak of the many hours she was locked away with them. Brickwedge had suggested Xanadu might be having a dalliance, but Sarah shot the idea down. It would be preposterous. Then again, she only did have Jason, it would be understandable. What that two-faced sorcerers did was her own business.

Sarah made her way into the marketplace. While she walked, she asked Brickwedge to stay at her side. Her stride was wobbly and she was prone to falling. She walked barefoot, she had not felt entire of surefoot in boots. She did not worry about people stomping her feet as Brickwedge’s girth gave her space. The horses were nice enough to warn her where they had made business. Dogs were another matter.

Sarah was looking a new saddle. The current one she had was cracking. Living alone in the countryside had its benefits, but it meant her clothes and gear were breaking more. Xanadu had suggested a dress for the wedding. Sarah had never owned one before. She enjoyed the chance to wipe away all the grit and grim she would gather from days out on her own and actually try styling her hair. She noticed in Alba Sarum many people admired her auburn color. Brickwedge had wondered if he was invited as well. Sarah had considered asking the Princesses on his behalf, but was uncertain how to phrase such a question.

With the wedding coming, plenty of shops were selling robes and gowns in the hopes to snare valuable foreign coin. There were clothes and jewelry for every appetite, very few agreed with Sarah. Finally she spotted something she adored, a riding saddle. Inscribed on its sides were a herd, running free across river and valley. The moon in all its phases ran across the cantle with the sun towering high from atop the horn. The leather was smooth, yet tough and smell of lilac. Sarah ran her fingers over the saddle. The storekeeper was eying his future sale. Damned if it wasn’t beautiful.

“I am not wearing that,” protested Brickwedge.

Sarah turned around to face him. “Why?” she thought back.

Brickwedge brought his face closer “It’s too...froofy… It won’t do.” He swung his head up high with pride. “I require a stallion’s saddle.”

Sarah picked up the saddle and observed with a closer eye. “It’s about as stallion-like as I’ve ever seen,” she retorted.

“I need something...manlier,” thought Brickwedge. “Save that thing for a mare.”

Sarah looked at her steed then back to the saddle, comparing its worth to his pride. “Is this because of that one from the stables who called you squat?”

“No!” replied Brickwedge, furious “I am a handsome stallion worthy only of heroes. The words of common...mill mare do not sink that deep.”   
“She was the prized steed of an Italian merchant,” Sarah responded, “and if I recall, I found you working a windmill yourself.”

Brickwedge was ablaze with frustration.”I’m not wearing that,” he said, “and that’s final.”

Sarah smiled. She folded her arms and leaned back against the wall of the store. “ What if I told those Arabian mares all about the time you fought off that army of vampires?”

 

Sarah and Brickwedge continued their way through the streets. The horse’s eyes were low to the ground as he reeked of lilac. “You are a bully,” he told her.

“Yes, but I get results,” said Sarah. She grabbed him by the snout, “Come on, keep your chin up, you look beautiful.”

“Don’t patronize me,” thought Brickwedge, “Let me have my pride.”

“You have no love for pageantry do you?” Sarah thought.

“When did you have any yourself, perhaps your time in this city has weakened your mind. Do not conform to their ideals! It’s all a trap!”

“You’re one to talk, city horse,” thought Sarah. All she got in response was a snort.

They were making their way to the citadel when Sarah saw something. She was looking through the eyes of someone in pain. She could see rotten floorboards drawn in blood. Enchanters with knives and chanting arcane speak. She wanted to get away but her legs were broken. All she could do was squeel. Her weak legs collapsed underneath her. Her insides were turning inside out. A knife cut open her belly and her intestines came pouring out. All she saw now was Red. Endless Red. Her stomach was a fire and her head was blaring with sound. She felt she was tumbling, tumbling on down into darkness. Her flesh rotting away as maggots wriggling under her skin.

Finally it was gone. The pain ceased and the sounds stopped. A large crowd had gathered. City guards had formed a circle around her.

“Are you alright, Horsewoman?” one of them asked.

She threw up a small pool of blood. “I think I can stand.” She cold and rubbery legs helped her stand but she propped most of her weight on the guard. “Where is my steed?” she asked.

Her question was soon answered with a screeching whinny. A few feet away, Brickwedge was in panic. He was bucking like mad as the guards grabbed his reins. They must have tried to pull him away. “Let go of my horse!” she shouted with all her strength. Then she called to him, “Brickwedge, please stop, I’m alright.”

The squat mill horse instantly stopped, much to the guards’ surprise and the let loose his reins. He pushed his way through the crowd to her.

Sarah held her head against his and scratched him behind his ears. There were tears in his eyes. “It’s alright,” she said out loud, “There, there. Everything’s fine.”

The big animal’s brown eyes were ready to water over. He rubbed his muzzle in her hair and stood at attention.

Sarah hoisted herself up onto Brickwedge’s back. “Thank you for your concern,” she said to the guards. “No need to call a doctor, I can find her myself.”

They made their way to the castle, Brickwedge was hesitant to leave her so she called a servant to find Madame Xanadu. Five minutes later, Xanadu did not appear. Instead Jason Blood walked out of the castle and approached her.

“Are you well enough to ride, Horsewoman?” he said, “The guards said you had a fit and collapsed in the middle of the street.”

“I feel better in the saddle,” replied the Horsewoman. “I have some urgent news to discuss with Madame Xanadu, where is she?”

“Xan’s currently assisting Princess Sarum. It’s best not to disturb them.” Jason’s tone seemed disappointed.

“This cannot wait. I had a vision from a horse with in the city. It was being murdered and I believe it to be the work of dark magic,” said the Horsewoman.

Jason looked upset. “Dark magic isn’t all that bad.”

“I don’t care. Wherever that poor creature is, it’s dead. I intend to find the people responsible,” said the Horsewoman. “Now would you rather dwaddle about to stay off boredom or track down the bastards murdering horses in this city?”

“Where would we start?” said Jason.

“He, I think it was a he,was looking out a window that I could see the northwest gates in the distance,” said the Horsewoman.

Jason slew himself up on his own steed, a particularly dull stallion named Grey Jackaby. “You recognized that all from a hazy vision?” inquired Jason. He seemed both amused and seriously doubting.

Sarah smiled. “I saw one of the city gates with a banner of a white eagle on blue green. I’ve been asking the horses in the city and they say it’s the northwest gate. It’s handy when you have friends everywhere.”

Jason was forced to agree. “Alright then,” he said, “But what about guards? If we’re going to be invading a den of dark wizards, we should have some protection.”

The Horsewoman slung on her quiver and readied her bow. “They’ll only get in the way.”

“Ass kicking time!” thought Brickwedge.

 

The three of them made their way to the northwest gates. Jason had to go back to the castle before they went out for his sword sword and spells. Horsewoman never knew him to have every used sorcery. The horses of the city were most resourceful. A great advantage to being linked to them was Sarah had eyes everywhere at all times. However, there were fewer horses in than normal for a city this size. It struck her as odd. Holding as best as she could to her vision, she cut down the perimeter of her search to a small section of town about a quarter of a mile from the northwest gates.

Though Alba Sarum was a magnificent city, even here there was such as thing as poverty and disease. Many shops were closed down or had fallen apart at the foundation. Raggedy children watched them ride past on their high horses with fine clothes. Sarah felt ashamed and picked up her hood. 

The occasional corpse lay in the street. They all had been stripped of their clothes long ago. The ones not too rotten had been eaten by stray animals. Jason noticed one or two had knife wounds in their chests. 

The tanneries were upwind from here. Brickwedge was sick to his stomach. Jason seemed also unwell. He said there was something sick in the air and it wasn’t leather. Sarah called out to the horses here. Most of them were mules or donkeys. She had difficulty understanding them as her connection to them was weaker and they were in less talkative moods. They kept getting turned around here. The roads twisted in strange directions. Brickwedge said they had passed the same butcher’s shop twice, the one with the scrotums hanging in the back. 

It was Jason that stopped them. They were in front of an old house. Nothing appeared through the black windows. The walls were made of stone for the first floor with crumbling moss thick mortar. The second and third floors were made of black wood that was terribly rotten. The place exuded a creeping fear of dread.

“It’s in there,” said Jason. He stared fixed at the house as if scared to turn his eyes away.

The Horsewoman felt the hairs on her back prick up. “Are you sure about-”

“Trust me,” said Jason. He didn’t break his gaze. “It’s in there.”

“You’re not leaving me out here are you?” thought Brickwedge.

“You’re not leading me in there are you?” said Jason at the same time.

Sarah jumped down off Brickwedge. Her legs were feeling strong again. She turned to Jason. “If we plan to get to the bottom of this, yes.” She looked back to the ancient slumbering house and stepped through the door.

A tired groan echoed through the house as Sarah placed her first foot inside. The very building seemed to slowly move back and forth to the wind, creaking every time. The whole place smelled of something Sarah remembered from a long time ago but since had forgotten the source. The entry room was empty. Nothing but rotten black boards lined the floors. Empty holes in the stone walls shone reminders that portraits had once been hung here.  Scratch marks on the floor leading outside from when all the furniture had been dragged out. A gaping hole in the middle of the room where the wood had eaten through was nothing but a black abyss. Not short before the door was a set of crooked stairs leading up onto the dark second floor. Claw marks made into the wall heading up there. A monotone hum came from the floor above.

The Horsewoman turned to Jason, “Are you coming with me or not?”

Jason was holding onto all his charms and magic scripts tight while staring up at the next floor. “There’s something wrought in this house,” he said, “Something beyond Heaven or Hell.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

Jason didn’t break his focus from the towering building. “If this was something divine or demonic, I would know. And I don’t know what this is.”

Sarah gave a concerned look. She did not want to show fear but she knew he was right. She had no skill in the arcane and even she could sense the eerie feeling of this place. The rest of this neighborhood was sickly, infected, and fowl. Here all the fumes of dung and disease stopped. Though it was midday, this house was pitch black. It’s windows shields from the outside. It was as if this house was cut off from the rest of the city, or even more than that.

Sarah took her foot out of the house. Instantly her anxiety lessened. She went to Brickwedge.

Her horse gave a thought of relief, “Oh thanks be many, let’s not good Sarah, let’s head back to-”

Sarah didn’t mount her steed. Instead she was going through one of her packs. She pulled out a small flint box and candles. Lighting one, she beckoned Jason to come.

As she put her foot onto the threshold again. She felt the rush of fear coming on. She realized that only inside the house she could hear the humming up stairs. She turned to Brickwedge, “At the first sign of trouble, take Jackaby and run.”

“This place is already a pretty good sign,” he replied.

Jason had fetched a number of crosses. Being bound to Etrigan, they sizzled at his flesh but he held them regardless. He offered a few to the Horsewoman.

She accepted, putting three of them around her neck. Regretted holding the candle but she’d rather have light for now than try using her bow indoors. She turned to Jason. “Are you ready?”

Jason gulped. He drew his short sword with his right hand and held a scroll in his other. The spot on his chest where the crosses were was sizzling but he paid it no heed. “As much as I can be.”

And so they walked into the dark house.

 


	24. Bad Magic Part 2

As she placed a cautious step, the floorboards under the Horsewoman’s heel gave a long moaning creak. “Jason?” she asked.

“What?” Jason replied.

The Horsewoman looked around the foreboding house. Set aside from the rest of the city, ivy had begun to grow in the structures and great mushrooms sat in the damp corners of this house. She and Jason took a few more hesitant steps to look around. Their backs to each other. “Are you scared?”

“I’ve seen the pits of Hell and not been as frightened. So I suppose the answer would be yes.”

“But you’re unkillable. Why would you be afraid?” she asked.

“To be honest,” replied Jason, “There are much worse things in this world than stabbings and beatings. Ask me about Claudia. Or even better, don’t.” The house felt like it was shifting inward, like a great stomach closing in.

Brickwedge was still waiting outside, though he was constantly looking over his shoulder. His ears were cropped and his eyes darted back and forth from corner to corner. The Horsewoman realized the vision she had received must have been over the roofline. That meant the place where the horse had been gutted must have been upstairs. How that was possible escaped her. She motioned to Jason and pointed up the stairs. Jason gulped as his knees trembled.

When she put her first foot on the stairs, the first step slowly bent. It had been eaten up by some infernal insects and turned to soupy mush. A thin film of glop was stuck to her boot. She reached over to the next step which held her weight and made her way up.

Unhappy to be heading up into the dark higher level of this house, Jason was channelling a stronger light with his cheap spells. His other hand was hard clenched over a dagger. He was about to step over the first rotten step when he heard something. A slow but steady “drip, drip, drip” coming from the room right of the stairs. It was as pitch black as everything else so he held out his stronger spell. drops of dark liquid were seeping through the ceiling and coalescing on the floor. Looking down at the rotten step before him, he told himself as best he could it was only more rotting wood and followed after the Horsewoman. 

At the top of the stairs, the Horsewoman looked around. Her small candle wasn’t doing much. She took out a second one, lit it and held it in the same hand. To both sides were gaping black doorways. Neither looked very welcoming. She waited for Jason to reach the top of the stairs before pointing to the door on the right.

It was then she noticed a smell overpowering the thick stench of rotting wood. Something all too familiar. The house kept groaning and moaning under her feet with the floorboards bending under her weight. She could hear a sound now. It was like they had crossed some invisible line for this sound was thundering, it was like the sound they had heard below but louder.  She and Jason held out their lights to the darkness. Jason took one look at it and screamed. He turned away, cracking his head on the doorway. Sarah had only caught of glimpse of this thing, but it looked like an animal. She held out her light to the darkness and felt the blood be sucked from her face in fright.

Lying dead in the middle of the dark room were three pigs. Their guts had all been ripped out and met in the middle of their circle. Lines and circles written in blood were everywhere, but that was not the worst. It was the rotting. Flies and maggots and all types of insects feasting on their carcasses. Bugs that did not seem fit for this world. Mandibles ripping and tearing at insides. Larvae wriggling in intestines. A sickly orgy of a feast where they sleep, ate, mate, and shat in their own filth. Jason’s own insides let loose. He added to the mess.

“What in God’s name happened here?” he said before retching again.

The strength in the Horsewoman’s legs left her. She crumbled on the floor. She wanted to throw up but her stomach wouldn’t let her. Brickwedge was going berserk outside, she was letting all this spill over onto him.

“What the hell is this?” she said like a little girl.

Callous scabby fingers grabbed her scalp and slammed her head against the doorway. Jason felt a boot come down on his back. Someone was dragging away, to the room on the left. Sarah tried to stand on her limp legs but only flailed about like a fish. She grabbed the candles she had dropped and jabbed them at the dark figure behind her. His robes lit up and in an instant, she saw his face. It was crooked and withered. A face that might have been handsome many years ago. Now it was sickening. The old robed man let loose a terrible scream. 

The other who had Jason turned. She saw he was a strong man. Massive chin and bulging arms. He stomped over towards her. Sarah realized her dagger was missing and her arrows had been strewn about in the floor. She grabbed one and stuck it deep into his thick calf. The man barely flinched. Either driven by determination or sheer strength, swept her up by the neck in one hand. His other became a fist. Like a hoof to the face, his hand bashed her in. She could taste blood. Another punch made of iron and she felt her lip split.

The man she had set ablaze started falling down the stairs. There was a massive snapping of wood, a loud scream, a bone cracking thud, and then silence. Sarah kicked him hard in the thigh yet he did not move. 

Another blow. Either he didn’t hit as hard or she was ignoring the pain. She clawed at his wrist. His grip was crushing down on her neck. She wasn’t breathing. Another fist coming. This time she caught it with her teeth. She bit down on his two smaller fingers. She could taste his blood gushing into her mouth. Without a sound, the man ripped his fist from her jaws, scraps of skin dangling from his fingers.

The man who had fallen into the basement had caused fire to spread unnaturally quick. Strong fumes of incense and herbs were everywhere and the lowest floor was consumed in smoke. Brickwedge was screaming outside, “Sarah! Sarah! Get out now!”

A screaming Jason, his mouth oozing with vomit leapt onto his back. He plunged his dagger into the brute’s back. Finally the monster screamed. Ignoring the blade, he rammed Jason into the wall. Sarah heard Jason’s bone’s crack. His jaw was crushed by the man’s shoulder. In doing so, the beast dropped the Horsewoman. Though the fire was burning bright, she could barely see anything as she wiped away all the blood. The man had Jason by both hands and was crushing down on his head. A new found strength sprung into Sarah’s legs. She grabbed a fallen arrow on the ground, the point burning hot. Howling she lept onto his back. She pushed down hard on Jason’s blade. The man let go of Jason who slide down the wall and collapsed into a pile.

Parts of the second floor were now smoking.

Spinning around to shake her off, the man was slamming her into walls and nearly dropped her out a window in his fury. Poor bastard thought he could buck her. With the arrow clenched in her hand. Sarah made her aim sure. She jabbed the hot arrowhead up the man’s nostril. He screamed as she slide it farther and farther up. Steam was erupting from his nose. She had reached a third of the arrow up into his head when he grabbed her by the hair, ripping some out and chucked her to the floor. He let loose a chilling furious scream. 

He stomped down on the pile that was Jason before turning to face Sarah. The short sword sticking from his shoulder and an arrow part way up his nose, he pointed at the Horsewoman. The shreds of skin on his fingers dangled as he spoke, “Damned wench! I’m going-”

It was then that the man’s head exploded. Melted chunks of brain and bone shot everywhere. A small hole was blown clear though the wall. The man’s body fell limp on the floor. A smoking crater where his head was. It was then Sarah realized which arrow she had stuck him with. Thank you Al Jabr.

Jason was still a bleeding pile on the floor. His unnatural healing was still kicking in. The rest of the stairs had been consumed in the inferno.The smoke was thick and black. Hoisting him over her shoulder, Sarah kicked open the hole in the wall even wider and chucked Jason out. There was a terrible splat and a cry of pain, but he had made it. Stretching to see through all the blood and the smoke. Sarah saw something she could land in. With the flames licking at her boots. she took flight. There was a great splat as hot horse dung flew everywhere. Sarah’s face and hair were thick with the stuff. Otherwise, she was alright.

Sarah heard Brickwedge’s hoofsteps running down the back alleyway. She smiled and laid her head back in the filth. She was bleeding, smiling, and crying all at once and possibly losing conscience. As the fire consumed the wretched building, Sarah heard panicked shouts. She heard what sounded like mage incantations and suddenly rainclouds were forming over the house. The clouds opened up and buckets of rain came pouring down. The fire was contained. More shouts were coming down the alleyway. Brickwedge was standing over her, screaming in his mind all sorts of concerns. She just put her dung covered hand to his muzzle. “Don’t worry,” she said, “we won.” She passed out as the shouts reached her.

 

The golden sunlight poured down onto Madame Xanadu’s face. Like warm honey, it ran down her neck, over her breasts, and on downward. Excepting its warmth, she lay back onto a bed of flowers. Her ebony hair draped over the greenery, snaring the soil of the earth, the blades of grass, and the swarm of colorful petals. She rolled around and around in the sun’s basking rays. Her body so warm. She moaned as she turned over to feel the light upon her backside. She snapped a bright yellow flower, only the width of her thumb, and stuck in behind her ear. Her skin irradiating the sweet warmth.

“Am I interrupting?” asked Merlin.

Xanadu reared at the man standing nearby. The nature of the dream changed. She was dressed in her pupil’s clothes again. They felt cold. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” she shouted.

The wizard stood in a patch of land that still remained of her dream. He stood against a shady tree, eating an apple from its branches. “I thought I’d check up on my student,” he said uncaring, “It seems she is enjoying herself as the world comes to an end.” He took a bite. The fruit’s juice ran down into his tangled beard. He let his mouth open as he chewed.

“I am not allowed to sleep?” she inquired. Her old robes smelled like they’d been left to the moths. “It’s not like youve been much of a help. Aren’t you hiding?”

“I am, however I can appear whenever I want to you. Anyone really. The problem is the weight of my words. If I speak of things of importance, I might be found. That, for instance, cost me a bit.” Merlin took another bite. “Though the Lord of Dreams has been kind enough to shadow some of my doings.”

Xanadu huffed. Always greater things behind the curtain with her old teacher. “What news to you bring, master? If it’s so important get on with it.”

Merlin dropped the unfinished apple. “This wedding that is coming, you must stop it at all costs. It cannot be.”

Xanadu’s jaw slacked in confusion. “Stop it? Why? What will change? Unlike you, I’ve been observing what goes on in Alba Sarum. I’ve spent my hours with the Princesses. The ones you failed, if I recall.”   
“I was busy being dead,” Merlin justified.

“Alba and Sarum are good people,” said Xanadu. “They have great vision and kind hearts. They rule their people with compassion and justice and they have a force of soldiers and mages to fend off the greatest of armies. If anyone should rule Camelot it should be them.”

Merlin gave a heavy breath. “It could have been,” he said. “But the stars have been changed. My years of planning have gone to waste. Not only your doing but others as well. The future queens of Alba Sarum would have been great ones, but it will not come to pass.”

“Then what will?” asked Xanadu.

“I cannot say,” Merlin said. “I have said too much, in more ways than one. Remember this Xanadu. When the halves should meet and their blood become one, there will be no turning back.” With that, he slid behind the tree and was gone from her dream.

Xanadu woke. She was in her bed chambers. Jason was not back from his errand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw fire. Running to her window, she looked down upon the city. Far off to the western gates was a towering inferno. Flames that roared up to the sky. Great evil burned in that blaze. She felt it hammering at her bones. A knock at her door and a tired castle servant came in.

“Pardon me Lady Xanadu, but I bring terrible news. Jason Blood and your friend the Horsewoman have been attacked. They’ve been brought into the infirmary and are in bad shape.”

Xanadu felt the words sink in deep. Damn that wizard and his omens.


	25. Island of the Amazons Part 1

Hadjia stood at the end of the bow. Her hair was thick with sea salt, her hands callused over. She stood barefoot on the deck. Her shoes had worn out weeks ago. She no longer dressed like a princess. She wore rags borrowed from her shipmates made of rough material. She had tried to let her clothes dangle loose and free but had stumbled too many times moving on the deck or been caught in lines. Her muscles were sore and her joints all creeked. Nuzha thought her brash and foolish. “This was no way to appear before the Queen of the Amazons” she would say as she tried to get all the salt out of her hair. Hadjia had a notion otherwise. She ate with her fellow crew members who were very warm to her company. She told them of the inventions she and her father had made as they spoke of their heritage. They were fascinated by her descriptions of machines that harnessed the power of Zeus and chariots that flew like Apollo’s. The Amazons did not have such fine tools, though they did have their wonders. 

Life was simpler on the ship. Most of it anyway. Her appetite had shrank, the Amazons broke fast before the sun was up and dined after it had set. They had been given long watches as they sailed onward toward Themyscira.

Hadjia had been on look out for three hours now. She enjoyed the night shift right before dawn. The world was silent, with only the rocking of the boat, the sound of the waves, and the smell of the breeze, the stars overhead guiding their way east. All she had to do was watch for vessels. The Amazons rarely went this far away from home and knew not how complex the trade routes of the Mediterranean had become. Hadjia had been well schooled in economics. She knew where the merchant ships sailed. Fortunately, the Amazon mages had spells that shrouded their ship. Men would have to wonder mighty close to see beyond their tricks. Only in the brightest daylight would they be seen and only from the corner of the eye, like a ghost.

A rush of sea air filled Hadjia’s nostrils. The rich scent flared up as she stood watching over the ending twilight. Though she missed father and Hazm, she loved this place.

It was then that the shout came. “Land ahead!” exclaimed the leader of her watch. “Come on princess, can’t you give us any warning?” her leader teased.

Hadjia squinted and swept her gaze over the horizon. She saw nothing but dark sea.

“Oh, forgive me, sister,” said the leader, “I forgot. The Goddesses hide Themyscira from the prying eyes of Man’s World. As your blood is from there, you will see it when we are much closer. Though I have heard that the women of Man’s World have a keener eye through the goddess’ doing.”

It was somewhat true. Hadjia saw something on the horizon. Like something focused through the wrong lens. It was bright and calling to her, but the shape was a complete enigma. Still it shone like a second sun, rising in the east.

The other Amazons came onto deck and were elated to see their home after so long. At breakfast, they all spoke of what they planned to do. A few of them had bought trinkets from Al Wadi as gifts to their loved ones. A couple had just stormed right up to a shop front, pointed at what they wanted and slammed some coins down. They had likely paid too much, Hadjia figured, though she hadn’t the heart to tell them.

She was half way through a solid stale loaf of bread when Phillipus came down below. She put a hand on her shoulder and said, “I think you can see it now.”

Rushing above deck, stale bread in her mouth, she looked out onto the sea. There before her was Themyscira. Like something from a mosaic, the island paradise stood before her. Lush green forest encased the lonely peak, shining stone homes great marble temples of Gods forgotten, and women bare skinned swimming in the sea and playing on the beaches. Hadjia held out her hand as if to reach some window that blocked off this world beyond anything she had known. She felt any moment she’d realize this was only a dream, but it was real.

“All hands on deck,” shouted Phillipus, “We’re coming in, let’s look good for our sisters!” The ship erupted in a mad scramble as the sailors tended the sails and pulled in lines. A squadron of soldiers in bright golden armor with spears and shields stood on the sides, looking out. Already, Amazons were watching them come in. “Princess Hadjia!” said Phillipus, “I suggest you get dressed for Queen Hippolyta. I doubt she'd like to be met by an envoy in sailor rags.”

With Nuzha’s help, Hadjia lept into a gown. Almost all of her dresses had not been unpacked so there was that blessing. She found a dress that was red and blue, two of the colours she noticed as a part of the Themysciran flag. Nuzha was frantic as she washed the salt from her hair and grime from her skin. She almost had a heart attack when she found all the scabs, calluses, and sores on her princess’s body.. “The way you look, I’d expect they’ll ship us back in disgust,” she said. She rubbed Hadjia’s chin, “By God, you fool, any later and you’d have a beard like your father’s.”

Nuzha worked quickly. She made Hadjia”s as fine and soft as it had once been. Three times, she scrubbed her down. Every time just revealed a new layer of sweat, salt, and skin. “It’s the best I can do, she said finally, “Don’t blame me when the Queen throws a fit. I warned you enough times.” When she was done, Nuzha gave her a mirror. 

Hadjia barely recognized herself. She looked back at who had left Al Wadi which now felt much farther away. 

“Oh don’t give that look, even if you fell into the sea you’d be beautiful. Thank God you only inherited your father’s demeanor and not his looks.” Nuzha shoved the dress in her lap. “Now get dressed, you’ve got a queen to meet.”

 

When the ship finally came into port, a small crowd of Amazons had gathered. They certainly lived up to their name. Just like Hadjia’s sisters, they were all giants with the physique any man would envy. Most of them wore togas and all the massive silver bracelets that must weigh ten pounds apiece. They stared anxiously at the ship, spotting friends onboard to wave and shout to. Between the ship and the crowd was a line of soldiers, dressed line the ones on the deck. They stood stoic, though their eyes were elated to see their sisters. When the dock lines were fastened, the gangway dropped down with a loud thud, and Phillipus walked off first to meet the soldiers. One in the line of stood out, a helmet with greater polish and finer metal. Phillipus met her, they exchanged some words, then they hugged.

“Welcome home, sister,” said the pronounced soldier. 

At that, Phillipus signed for Hadjia to come down. 

She made steady steps down the gangway, weary that in shoes she’d left aside for weeks, she might fall over. Finally she set foot on the docks and stood before the hungry eyes of the Amazon and the crowd.

“I take it you are the exemplary Princess Hadjia of the Al Wadi Sulfate?” she asked.

“I am,” said Hadjia. She thought of what to follow after but calling her sister would be too forward.

“It is an honor to meet you at last,” the Amazon said, “I am Okyale, General of Queen Hippolyta, may I be the first to welcome you to Themyscira, Paradise Island.”

Her sisters on the boat and the Amazons on the peer all let loose a joyous cry. The smiling line of soldiers banged their shields in applause.

“Alright, alright,” said Phillipus, “They’ll be plenty time for jubilations later, we have work to do.” Not needing further instructions, Hadjia’s sisters took to unloading the Marpesia. This didn’t stop the occasional sister carrying goods down the gangway from getting a quick kiss from an Amazon who’d been waiting on the docks. Nuzha rolled her eyes and kept on walking. Hadjia had found herself in a very different place. She was interested what else this place had to offer.

Okyale walked her into the city, what lay before her was nothing fine enough for words. The streets were rowed with buildings like all the books on ancient Greece had spoken of. Their architecture was mathematical perfection. They must have tended to them well, even the cobblestones shone like jewels. Most of these buildings were places of learning, libraries, schools, forums for intellectual discussion, painting, sketching, sewing, and countless others. 

At street corners were fine granite statues, standing over thirty feet tall. All of them were women and only some Hadjia recognized. All women described from myths whom Hazm would fawn over. Father should have sent him to record all of this.

Okyale addressed her, “Despite our horrid misconception as seafaring murderers, The Amazons of Themyscira spend much of their time refining their minds. We take time to analyze philosophy and the sciences. All that you see here was build by Amazons and is maintained by Amazons. We have no real form of currency, all us sisters work for the betterment of the whole. We’ve done a great job to improve the lives of our fellow woman and by doing so improve our own.”

“It’s quite awe inspiring, General Okyale,” said Hadjia, “My brother would have loved to study in your schools.”

Okyale stopped in place for an awkward split second before she started walking. “Do not take offense, Princess Hadjia, but men are not very welcome here. While we bend the rules occasionally, your father’s friends, the Demon Knights, for example, it is only when something truly dire is at our door.”

Hadjia felt weights on her next words. “While I can understand your reasoning, I must ask, why is it that men are taboo here?”

Okyale sighed. Many of her guards exchanged looks. “It is nothing that I consider that important to foreigners, but it’s an important part of our history. Centuries ago, our people were enslaved by the bastard son of Zeus, Hercules. He chained us and used us for his pleasure. Many of our sisters died for displeasing him. There are many here who remember his crimes far too well. He beat us. He used us. He toyed with us. And for that we consider him the embodiment of truly evil men. It was our Queen Hippolyta who led the rebellion against Hercules. We slit his manhood from him, thrust a thousand swords into his chest, and ripped out his heart. The arrogant Zeus would not let his son die such a tragic death. He thought death at the hands of women, not even Amazons, was a worthy death at all.” She spat. “Damn Zeus and his bastard kin. But the three goddesses, Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, took pity on us. They knew the crimes suffered by women and led the other goddesses to aid us. With their might, they remade us. They granted us immortality and this paradise to rule as we saw fit. The only condition were these.” Okyale showed her the great silver bracelets on her wrists. “When we were saved by the kind hearts of the Goddesses, they gave each of us these bracelets, the shackles that Hercules bound us with. These indestructible tokens were asked to be worn by us. To prove that though we must suffer the proud arrogance of men, it does not destroy us. Whenever we are kicked down, we get back up, and it will only make our resolve stronger. I don’t know a single Amazon who rejected them.”

They arrived at The Palace. Hadjia did not know it’s name but upon the sight of it knew it was The Palace. A great domed house atop a thousand stairs. The way up was decorated with statues of the Amazons. Each figure posed in a different activity or as a different character. A great archer, a careful sculptor, a swollen mother, a boisterous speaker, and so on. At the base of the steps was a phrase. It was written in old Greek, but Hadjia knew the words. “Sister, you are woman, creator of life. Therefore you embody all life’s attributes. Each step is one of your strengths.” Hadjia gulped. She put her foot on the first stair and climbed.

 

By the time she had reached the top, her legs burned. She was ready to collapse, but formalities pulled her ever onward. She stood before the entrance to the palace of Queen Hippolyta. Its inviting halls or white marble shined bright. Columns taller than castle walls stood at each side. Together they held up mosaics of the Greek goddesses granting their gifts upon the women of the world. Between each of the massive columns stood an Amazon warrior, her form strong and spear drawn. They stood as still as the statues.

Finally Hadjia and Okyale stood before a set of golden doors sculpted with the proud history of Themyscira. From the upheaval of Hercules, to the founding of Paradise Island. Two guards in glimmering golden armor stood prepared on each side.

A voice came from within, “Presenting Princess Hadjia, emissary of Al Wadi.”

“Time to make an impression they wouldn’t forget,” thought Hadjia, just as the doors opened.


	26. Island of the Amazons Part 2

She smiled at her. “Welcome my sister, we invite you with open arms.” Who, what stood before Hadjia defied words. She burned like the sun with words just as warm. “You are a sister to us, like any other, feel free to consider this place your home away from home, as we may call your’s.” Queen Hippolyta’s voice soothed her aching legs and loosened all tension.

The whole time Hippolyta smiled at Princess Hadjia, with a kind affection, as if she adored her. Her smile was whiter than ivory and her eyes as blue as the sea. She wore a loose purple gown with a cape of a darker shade. Her shoes were but sandals like many of her sisters of the Marpesia. In her left hand was a golden staff topped with an eagle. Her thick black curls tumbled down below her shoulders. She stood over a full foot taller than Hadjia, nothing short of a giant with her towering frame. Hippolyta leaned down to her and before Hadjia could speak, the queen’s arms were around her, cradling her. Hadjia could only remember this type of embrace from her earliest memories. The only she had of her mother. “All sisters are welcome here,” said Hippolyta and Hadjia lost all control and hugged her as tight as she could.

The great Amazon queen give a nurturing laugh and only let go when Hadjia wanted to. The queen held her chin, looked deep into Hadjia’s eyes, and wiped away some water from the girl’s eyes. “No need for that,” she said, “You look tired, let us find a place to sit down to speak on behalf of our nations.” Taking Hadjia under her arm, Queen Hippolyta walked her out into the garden.

It was all too much. The sun beamed down rays of pure gold onto this place, a sprawling open garden of bright flowers and shady trees. Plenty of Amazons laid about in the palace gardens. They read books, they played games, one was riding through on horseback. Hippolyta guided Hadjia through the fields of yellow, pink, and blue to a nice little spot atop a hill with a tree casting the perfect shade. Hippolyta turned to Okyale, whom Hadjia had forgotten about. “My sister, could you send to the kitchen to bring the Princess something to eat?” Silently, but with a warm smile on her face, the general nodded and left. “Come, sit,” she said to Hadjia. After her bunk on the Marpesia, the grass felt like her own bed back home. “You must be hungry after your long voyage. I hope it wasn’t too strenuous. Phillipus enjoys long sea adventures.”

“She was a tough, but fair captain,” said Hadjia, finding her composure.

“You worked under her?” asked Hippolyta. Her eyes opened wide and she showed off her perfect teeth.

“I...uh,” Hadjia’s cheeks burned red. This woman cut right through her like butter. “I offered my assistance to Captain Philipus when she thought it was required.”

The Queen held her trembling hands. Her fingers going over them like warm silk. “You’ve built up quite a number of calluses and bruises I see. You must have had your shifts pulling lines and scrubbing the deck. Did you take any turns at the oars?”

Hadjia had thought she’d been so careful to hide the evidence of her set aside grace. This woman had the eyes of a hawk. “No, I wouldn’t dare!”

“You should have tried it,” said Queen Hippolyta. “It builds up muscle, and a hungry appetite I will say. I miss the days I used to sail the sea. Back before we lived in this small little corner of the world. But my daughters except me to act regally, so I suppose I’ll have to live through you.” She paused. Playfully she said, “Don’t you dare let my daughters know that. Else I’ll tell them all how Princess Hadjia became unlike herself and sang sea shanties with Philipus’ crew.”

Their lunch arrived, it was not what she had expected of the hard Amazon women. There was tea heavy with milk, sweet cakes with honey, crab meat, and a fat branch of grapes.

“Please, eat,” said Hippolyta. “Goddesses know we have enough. I suppose we should try to discuss some diplomatic matters. It is why you are here, and I would hate to disappoint your kindly father for sending someone so close to him. For collecting and sending the Demon Knights to help stop the forces of Cain, I feel obligated to return a similar favor.” She snapped off a couple grapes and looked off into the distance and the juice rolled down her jaw. She wiped it away and continued before Hadjia could respond. “I hope you understand that asking my daughters to go to Man’s world to fight is too much. We enjoy our sanctuary here and wish to avoid the battles of men. We have weapons, we have magic, we have quite a number of books and trophies, but war is something we will not enter.”

“Understandable,” said Hadjia. She had several ideas for amnesty between Themiscyra and Al Wadi dashed. However she needed to see what this place had to offer. She typically would curse her father for such little foresight when dealing with these people, but the fruits of such labor tasted sweet. “If that is the case, would it be reasonable to see more of Themyscira. I would like to take in a full account of your beautiful nation.”

Hippolyta chortled. “Forgive me child if I snicker a bit at the name “nation.” We’re hardly the sort. It is like my title. I may be a queen, but it’s more of a traditional custom. We’ve had little need for much governing in these centuries alone. Most disputes arise from who’s sleeping with who more than anything. The centuries get long, my people need companionship, and by the Goddesses does the drama pile up. But enough of that, let’s give you a good look at paradise.”

Hippolyta took Hadjia through the city, they rode on white mares adorned with gold. They traveled to the arena, where fierce warriors honed their countless years of practice. They went to the great libraries. These places were piled high with books from all corners of the Earth. The Amazons had kept a fine record of literature, much of it was written by their ranks of poets. In the theatre was a great show of high drama and romance. Hadjia found it amazing how dedicated the actors were. Hippolyta explained that the greatest playwright in Themyscira was a woman by the name of Teisipyte. She’d been writing this same story for five centuries now with the same actors. Some feared they’d been swallowed up by their own roles. The lead refused to be called anything besides her stage name. Hadjia asked what the plot was, but the queen simply said it would take too long to explain properly. Next they went to the stables. Amazon war horses were some of the finest bred in the world. They stood like giants, the only breed capable of running full speed with an armored Amazon riding high. In one of the great forums, many Amazons spoke to the crowd their philosophies on all sorts of things. Plenty have evolved or changed their theories over and over trying to achieve true enlightenment. The queen whispered, “Sometimes I like to debunk them. It keeps them thinking. Should anyone of these immortals become stuck in one place for too long would be disastrous. 

On the beaches, many Amazons played games. Many of them they had invented or picked up again every few decades. Many flew handmade kites in the skies. They resembled great dragons or vigilant hawks. A couple were in an argument over whether an owl made any sense flying in the daylight. They concluded kite flying at night was boring. One sister was building a sand castle of what she remembered of Troy. The structure spanned over thirty feet in every direction with impossible detail. She said it had taken nearly eight weeks of work, starting from a sketch. Hadjia noticed her on the beach many couples making love, bare to the world, and deaf to the surroundings. Hadjia had never seen such open displays of feminine affection and felt quite embarrassed. Hippolyta told her she wouldn’t believe what the beaches would be at night and fanned herself off.

As they left the shore, Hadjia spotted an Amazon carving a sculpture from stone. There had been plenty before, there was quite the competitive art community here. It was the way this Amazon dressed. She wore her hair short. Her clothes more closing and conservative while almost everyone wore loose togas and didn’t care what was visible. But this Amazon dressed in a way that concealed feminine qualities.

“Before you ask,” said Queen Hippolyta, “That is Orpheus, a true sculptor if ever there was one. I won several of his works.”

“Orpheus?” asked Hadjia, “as in the poet?”

“That’s who he took the name from,” said Hippolyta, “But that is one of my Amazons. He was one of my greatest fighters, served ever so faithfully. However as time went by on this island, he discovered things about himself. He feels more like a man than a woman and so changed his name. I know many of my daughters do not fully understand his choices, shamefully neither do I, and he doesn’t entirely either. His own words. I only tell you such things because life has not been easy for him on this island. He’s very much the man amongst the Amazons.”

After her speech, Hadjia was left with more questions than answers. She had heard of people who claimed disharmony with their sex, but never to this degree. Whether this was because of “Man’s World” or not was something of interest for her. The Amazons were quite a different people.

Hippolyta lead her to a secluded barn in the middle of farmland, she suspected Hadjia would enjoy this visit. She called out to someone called Derinoe. After taking her time, the Amazon arrived. She wore grease stained clothes and thick hide gloves. Derinoe was Themiscyra’s greatest scientific mind. In her pursuit of knowledge, she’d been granted excuse from typical public service. Inside Derinoe’s barn was a great clustered workshop of all types of machines. Hadjia recognized a hot air balloon similar to her fathers but with lacking materials, the air had to be contained within cowhide. Derinoe had something a kin to her father’s telescope however instead of seeing far off places, it had the exact opposite purpose. It magnified small objects to be viewed up close. Derinoe had a shocking supply of bugs that she’d been studying. Cicadas the size of small cats buzzed and banged around in their small glass prisons. A windmill stood in the middle of Derinoe’s barn. Its blades were far thinner that it seem called for, but Derinoe insisted she was working on containing energy, like that of Zeus’ thunder. Much to Hadjia’s amazement, the Amazon had developed electrickery. She spun a loop of wool all the way up the windmill down into the barn. The friction created a notable electrical charge. Derinoe one day dreamed to contain far more than a few sparks. Hadjia explained some of the methods her father used and the Amazon inventor listened well to her ideas. They spent hours discussing the designs in Derinoe’s workshop, but slowly the sun sank towards the sea and Queen Hippolyta called for the princess.

They made their way back to the city, Hadjia’s muscles ached. She had been up since before dawn and this whole day had been so long. Her eyes were like lead when they reached the city.

The Queen smiled at the weary child. “I am glad you have taken such great interests in my people, Princess Hadjia of Al Wadi. I only hope I’ve served as a bearable company. We’ll take you to your quarters momentarily. Forgive me if it’s a bit crude, we don’t usually have visitors.”

Hadjia’s quarters were nothing short of stunning. Open to the warm night breeze, the thick smell of olive oil waffed through the room. Her vista was of all New Athens and her bed fit for a god. It was a room set aside for distinguished sisters Hippolyta would host in her palace, but Hadjia barely heard it as she collapsed upon her bed. Her tense muscles and creaking bones resting on silken bliss. Servants were at her beckon call and she was entitled to complete privacy in these quarters. She fell asleep before she could change and took a long needed sleep.


	27. The Healing Process

At the call of the cock, Xanadu was torn from another blissful dream. She looked over to Jason, lying peacefully on the bed. He looked good as new. His swollen eye had strunken. His teeth had painfully realigned. The fractured bones had all snapped back into place. He had spent all of last night screaming in pain. Xanadu coiled a tuft of his black hair between her fingers.  
She used her chamberpot before anything else. She washed her hands and face. Madame Xanadu got dressed and made her way down to the infirmary. Last night this had been a waking nightmare. Xanadu learned that the Horsewoman and Jason had gone off on their own to investigate a magical disturbance while she was busy with the princesses. The city guards had found them both outside a burning house by the North West gate, a dangerous part of town. The Horsewoman had several injuries but it seemed Jason had taken the full brunt of their enemies. His legs had been shattered when he was thrown out the window. The Horsewoman’s steed, Brickwedge had stood outside his rider’s window all night. Rumors were the creature had tried to force its way into the castle halls.  
Xanadu reached the infirmary. There were not many patients, a few old knights who had getting in a scuffle and a surly ambassador who’d started a fist fight which Princess Alba quickly ended. A cot lay at the end of the hall where the first morning shift was tending to a patient who was nearly unrecognizable. Her lip had been swollen, her eye black, one ankle sprained, an arm dislocated, and when she had been brought in, she smelled strong of horse dung. It looked like the Horsewoman hadn’t slept a wink.  
“Good morning,” said Xanadu, taking up a chain next to her, “How are you feeling.”  
“Like I’ve been run over with a cart,” mumbled the Horsewoman from the layers of bandages. Her breaths were heavy and hoarse. “I suppose Jason’s fully recovered by now?” she asked.  
Xanadu gave a hesitant nod.  
“Lucky fool,” the Horsewoman said, “Forgive my rudeness, I’m in horrible pain. You wouldn’t happen to know some spells of healing would you?”  
“I cast several on you when you came in. It should speed up the process, but it will still take a few days and it will be painful.”  
“Oh joy,” said the Horsewoman. “I could have sworn an hour ago my insides felt they had been run through.” She looked into Xanadu’s eyes. “Thank you though,” she said, “I was scared I might not recover. I’ve only been in this bed for a few hours and my body’s screaming to ride again.”  
“I’m sorry,” said Xanadu.  
“It’s not your fault. I can’t stand being in one place for too long. This city has gotten to my nerves. There’s a lot going on beyond these walls.”  
“That’s what I’m wondering about,” said Xanadu, “You ran off to the North West gate, why?”  
“To be honest I don’t know,” said the Horsewoman, “I received a vision, animals being slaughtered. It was so strong, I nearly collapsed in the street. Jason and I found the building where the creatures had been killed. Just looking at the place was terrifying. I don’t know what had transpired, but there was something evil in that house. We went to the second floor and there we found three pigs, all dead, lying in a magic circle.”  
“Pigs?” said Xanadu.  
“Pigs. I have no idea how I saw into their minds, but I did. Anyway, we were soon attacked by two men. One of them caught fire and burned the building down, the other I killed by accident.”  
“What?” said Xanadu.  
“I made his head explode,” replied Horsewoman.  
“Hmph,” said Xanadu in amusement “Well you certainly had an eventful night.”  
“No kidding,” coughed the Horsewoman. She tried to face the window by her bedpost. “Brickwedge is still out there. I’ve told him to head home but he won’t listen to me. Damn if that horse isn’t stubborn.” She grasped a cup loosely in her hand. She spilled water on the bedsheets as she drank. “What concerns me more are the horses.”  
“What do you mean?” asked Xanadu.  
The Horsewoman put the put back on her nightstand. “Hundreds of people are pouring into this city for the wedding. I’ve been watching through the eyes of all the mares, stallions, and fillies. What I’ve come to realize is that there are far too few. A city this size, with this many people coming in should have a third more its share of horses, yet it doesn’t.”  
“What do you make of it?” Xanadu asked.  
“I hate to sound alarmist, but I think someone might be trying to limit my sight. Plenty of horses die everyday. Even when I try to block it out I get rushes of pain, but far more horses are dying in this city than there should be. Plenty of them tell of friends who have gone missing and never seen. Steeds of visitors and workhorses have gone missing the most. Many of them have cloth placed over their eyes before they’re killed. So either Alba Sarum is where horses are slaughtered irregularly high, or someone knows I’m here and doesn’t want me to see what they’re doing.”  
“You’re not one to make enemies, are you Horsewoman?” said Xanadu.  
“I’m not one to make acquaintances in general,” she replied.  
Xanadu pondered this, “This does not bode well. I will talk to the princesses about this. Do you think it’s connected to the wizard’s lair you and Jason invaded.”  
“That house was within an area that was blotted out from my vision,” said the Horsewoman, “It wouldn’t surprise me.”  
“Thank you for sharing this,” said Xanadu, “I’ll make sure something is done about this. Now you get your rest, you’ve been through a lot so sleep as much as you can. I’ll be back soon with some spells that might dull the pain.” The Horsewoman gave her thanks and Xanadu left.  
She went down to the lower floors. The castle of Alba Sarum was much brighter than Camelot had been. Though to be fair that had been several centuries ago. Still, this place had more stained glass and open windows. She would have enjoyed it something else stirred in her mind. Through the stone of this enormous keep, she could feel magic. Something old and powerful sleeping within these stones. This city was known for its talented magic users and marvels of the mystic. Part of the castle’s architecture was clearly supported on protective spells. Perhaps it was Camelot awakening inside the walls. Whatever the cause, this place was built atop something of great power and Xanadu did not understand it.  
Finally she reached the Princess’ counseling chambers. She knocked only once before Sarum opened the door and let her in. Sarum, bless her soul, hadn’t aged as severely as Alba. She still retained color in her hair and a spirit of youth. She was as kindly as a maiden a fourth her years, always speaking just above a whisper and careful to pick her words. “I saw the Horsewoman when she first came in,” she said, “That poor woman’s been through a lot.”  
“I spoke with her,” said Xanadu, “She’s had quite the interesting story to tell.” Xanadu laid out the Horsewoman’s experience and her theory to the holes in her vision of the city.  
“I see,” said Princess Sarum, “And do you believe the Horsewoman?”  
Xanadu gave a face of perplexion . “I’ve certainly met my share of dangerous wizards. They often concert with darker and older forms of magic. Whether or not these two unknown me were acting on their own is my first question. Jason could not give a good description of his attackers and he doubts the Horsewoman could either. This story about the horses however concerns me. I have no understanding of how vast the Horsewoman’s gaze is. She is one to keep to herself but if she speaks the truth we should investigate.”  
“Understandable,” said Sarum, “I think it is best that you look into these matters further, Xanadu. Your knowledge of the mystic arts is exceptional. I will give you free range of the city, search for whatever may shed light on this bad magic. However, I do have one request of you.” She leaned in close to her ear. “You must keep my Alba ignorant of this.”  
“Princess Sarum!” Xanadu exclaimed, “This is a most serious matter! The possibility of a network of warlocks in your city who are aware of the Horsewoman’s abilities is-”  
“Please,” said Sarum, “Understand. Alba has been exceedingly paranoid for the past month. She’s sent the night watchmen on double shifts and had guards running up and down the city, checking every possible den, brothel, and stable for trouble.”  
This was news to Xanadu and she’d been speaking with Alba almost everyday. “Why?” she asked.  
“She’s scared, practically jumping at shadows that some old enemy of Camelot will come charging through the castle walls and take our heads in the right.”  
“A reasonable position,” said Xanadu, “Princess, I have seen the fall of Camelot before. So has Jason. It was horrifying. You cannot think to let your guard down for a second.”  
“And I have no intention of doing so,” said Sarum, sitting up straight in her seat. “What I plan to do is not send my betroved into a paranoid ghost hunt for what is hopefully only a sickly wizard born in the North West district. I want you to turn the city over looking for any possible collaborators. Find them, and deal with them discretely.”  
Xanadu sighed. This weight fell heavy on her. “You word is my command, Princess, your beloved shall not be aware of these events. I hope for your sake this is only a small incident.”   
“Thank you, Madam Xanadu,” Sarum said, “Now be forewarned, the city guard have been given the command to root out any trouble. They will be expecting you to find it for them.”  
“I’m disliking this more and more,” said Xanadu, “But I shall follow your words. Princess Alba shall not know of what happened in that house. Speaking of, she should be here by now.”  
“Yes,” agreed Princess Sarum. Then it fell into place.  
“Dung,” said Xanadu. She raced out of the room, up the tower stairs. She knocked squire boys and servants aside without a second thought, leaving piles of fallen parchment and bed sheets in her wake. When she realized how fast she was going, she stopped her pace into a quick walk. She swept through the twisted hallways, not stopping to greet any of the dignitariesor knights. Suddenlly Jason popped out of a door way.  
“Xan!’ he said with relief.  
Madam Xanadu grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him along. Yanking his head close she whispered, “Have you seen Princess Alba?”  
“What? No, I just got up and went looking for y-”  
“Then whatever you do, do not speak of what you saw in that house to anyone. Especially her.”  
Jason gave an expecting baffled remark, “Well why? What for?”  
Jason winced as her nails dug deep into his hand. “I will explain later. But for right now shut up and do as I say. This is very important.”  
Then she found the infirmary. Princess Alba was there with the Horsewoman. “Dung” she said again under her breath. The princess must have only gotten here a few seconds ago, she was only asking the Horsewoman about how she had slept and how she was feeling. Hiding a sign behind her back, Xanadu cast a short spell towards the Horsewoman. “Horsewoman! By God, you look awful! Have they been treating you well?”  
The second the Horsewoman tried to respond, Xanadu turned the princess’s head. “Princess Alba, you’re here to see the Horsewoman also?”  
The Horsewoman was trying to shout out to them but was unheard.  
“Yes,” said Princess Alba. “It seems Jason here is looking much better than when he was brought in,” pointing to the man’s lack of injuries.  
“A part of my curse, m’lady. It’s tough to keep me down for long.”  
Xanadu scoffed. She rolled her eyes over to the Horsewoman wriggling behind her and the princess. She was shouting at the top of her lungs but no sound came out. With a flick of her wrist and a murmur under her breath, she pricked the Horsewoman’s foot with a needle. “My word, the Horsewoman looks horrid. The poor woman!”  
The princess’s attention was drawn back to the woman in the bed. The Horsewoman’s thrashing had ceased. Her eye were slowly closing.   
“That’s strange,” said Princess Alba, “She was fine a second ago.”  
“She’s probably very tired. She’s been through a lot and I imagine she’s in for a lot more. It’s best she rest for now,” said Xanadu.  
The Horsewoman was fully asleep.  
Xanadu smiled at her handiwork. “Rest for now,” she said to the Horsewoman.  
Princess Alba signed. She wheeled around to face Jason. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you as well, Jason Blood, about what led you to being dragged from an inferno and beaten so.”  
Jason didn’t look at the princess. His eyes were locked over her shoulder at Xanadu holding up her needle and giving him a death glare. “Um, well, to be honest I was beaten by some thieves were after my coin purse. They saw the Horsewoman in her condition and thought to ambush us. I’m not known for my fighting prowess and I would not summon Etrigan in your fair city.” He paused, still fixed on Xanadu’s gaze. “It did not go well.”  
Jason told everything he could, avoiding anything about sacrificial pigs or possible wizards. Simply the Horsewoman thought she’d spotted something from a mare’s eye in the North West district and it had led them to an abandoned house where his attempt at a spell of light created the fire. Princess Alba looked suspicious but accepted his story without question and let to deal with city business.  
When the princess was gone, Jason collapsed upon one of the empty beds. “Damn it, Xan, what in Hell is going on?”  
Xanadu ignored him. She walked over to the Horsewoman and pricked her with the needle. The patient on the bed sprung awake. She looked around terrified, still failing to speak. Xanadu lended down next to her. “Sorry about all that, but we’ve run into a bit of a snag.” She explained Princess Sarum’s specific request of her before the wedding. The Horsewoman understood and asked to help. “Thank you dear, but you’re in no condition to be of much use for a while. Jason,” she said.  
Jason appeared beside her, “Yes?”  
“I have a request for you, this is going to be difficult, but if we’re to make any progress on this investigation, we’re going to need a specialist on occult magic.”  
Jason drew breath to respond then stopped. He looked into her eyes and knew just who she was referring to.


	28. Pass at the Pyrenees Part 1

Al Jabr cast his book aside. The sun was going down and he had already made it through most of the pages, all of which had been particularly dull. It was so hard to find good reading, almost everyone’s discoveries and inventions were things he toyed with in his youth. However, the ride up the Pyrenees had been long and tedious. They couldn’t stop until they reached the French side. Ystin and Exoristos had been talking with some new-found friends, a bunch of performers they had gained awhile back. The only time he had enjoyed another’s company was when some petulant little princeling came asking if the caravan could move faster. He wished it could. Some reports had come from up front of movement beyond their shrinking vision. Thank God they had Ystin and Exoristos.

Everyone was becoming more and more nervous as they climbed. Plenty of merchants and lords had armed themselves with weapons their grandfather’s wielded when the edges were sharp, the fools. He’d explained to them what traveling this way entailed but they only realized the danger once they were beyond the point of return. Either they stick with the caravan or they head back down. No one went back down. His guard had asked him to wear armor, but Al Jabr turned it down. He said he had their surest confidence.

One of Ystin’s newfound friends came trotting by his wagon. An old man by the shade of his beard, yet appeared with the health and vigor of a man half his age. It helped that he was bald. “You there, stranger,” Al Jabr said from his seat, “what land to you hail from?”

“I am Janub,” the man said, “I spent my youth in Egypt.”

Al Jabr hid his smile, just has he thought. “And the rest?”

“I’ve been traveling with my companions. A strange bunch, I’ll admit, but we find kinship in our adventures,” said Janub.

Al Jabr laid his head back. “I used to have adventures, my own little band of misfits. By God, we got into all sorts of trouble in those days. Still do every now and then. I’d take facing dragons over dealing with pompous nobles, I have no tiny quarrels in killing the former. Though I do hope your travels have been far less hectic than mine.”

Janub smiled, “Depends on what you call hectic. Most people enjoy a little ‘freak show.’ They’ll empty their pockets over anything that wanders in from faraway lands. It’s why we make a killing on Christian stages. Though it often means the local lords will cast us out the second they’ve stopped clapping.”

Al Jabr sighed, “Yes, there is that. Tell me Janub, what drew your lot together?”

For a split second, the old knight’s looked like a deer looking down the wrong side of a bow. “Oh,” he said grudgingly, “that story...The five of us more ran into each other. Romulus, he’d be our manager was traveling about with Zephyrus, the young one with the bow. They went about performing trick shots and occasionally slaying local monsters, nothing too serious of course. They found Koichi, poor girl’s family was exiled from their land. They met me shortly thereafter. I’d put down my mace a long time ago, started working as a farm hand. Not the most glorious of professions but my pay was decent and it was quiet.”

“I envy you,” said Al Jabr.

“Bah, it couldn’t last,” said Janub, “once your blood is riled up for fighting, nothing on God’s earth can cool it. My peace was nice, but it’s nothing like traveling, meeting new people, and putting an end to a few goblins now and then.” He played with the leather thong at the end of his mace. “Nordroni got us out of a jam up in Norway, nearly froze to death there, and she’s been with us as well. It’s a rough life, never certain the bed I will be sleeping on, of course you know all about that.”

Al Jabr nodded, “Sometimes I feared it would be my death bed.”

“Ah, that too,” said the old knight.

“Tell me,” said the Caliph, “Have you ever been to Alba Sarum?”

“Can’t say so,” replied Janub, “always wanted to, heard wonderful things, but never went that far into France. Know the crowds there are really friendly, they have a strong love for dancers and jugglers and that type of folk. Perhaps I could even play my lute.”

Al Jabr looked tickled, “You play?”

“Sometimes,” said Janub, “My companions don’t care much for music but let me tell you, there is few a finer way to make friends, lovers, and business partners than with a little bit of melody. I’d play but,” Janub swept his gaze across the darkening landscape. “I’d imagine it’s best to keep our ears pricked.”

Al Jabr shuddered, “You’d be right. It should be starting soon.”

The sun had all but vanished in the west. The caravan was drawing tighter and tighter as the head was slowing down to a crawl. Shouts came from the rear to move up. They couldn’t afford to dawdle. Exoristos and Ystin were going up and down the road, checking across the darkness. Janub’s compatriots had their weapons out and were watching as well. The road became very silent as conversation ceased. The only sounds were the clops of hooves and rolling of wheels intercut with the buzzing of night time bugs. Guards on foot were walking at the front of the caravan with dogs flaring their nostrils accompanied by mounted men with torches set to burn as bright as possible.

The wagons carrying merchants, lords, and other such people were drawn to the middle, sandwiched between two great bulky carts. The fools had asked to say with their riches, but the Caliph would have none of it. Perhaps if they’d live to be half his age they’d grow some brains. All had grown horribly quiet as fear stirred in the caravan.

Sir Ystin came up close to his wagon. “Have you seen anything,” Al Jabr asked.

Ystin drew him in before whispering to him, “We’ve spotted movement in the back. Ex spotted some eyes in the darkness. Up front is a bit more quiet. I’d imagine we might be blocked off up ahead.”

“Leave that to me,” said Al Jabr.

A scout short of breath came running up the wagon. “My caliph,” he said, “We have a problem, up ahead the road dips into a small canyon about ten feet taller than the wagon roofs on both sides.”

The old man rolled his white beard, such a spot would be easy for an ambush. “Can we run men along the top of the walls?”

“No my caliph,” the poor boy said, “On our side, the walls go straight up.”

Al Jabr drew a heavy breath. He’d say this was a trap, but they had already climbed up into it. With the darkness growing on all sides, they would likely have no other choice. “Sir Ystin,” he said to the shining knight, “I want you and Exoristos to draw in close to the center of the caravan. No matter what. Understood?”

Ystin looked baffled, “Al Jabr, why not have us scale the sides on Vanguard?”

“Because while I know how fierce you both are, I’m afraid you are only two. Don’t case yourself aside chasing heroics,” the old man said.

“But what about the commoners?” asked Ystin rightfully, “Where will they be?”

“Right here,” said Al Jabr, “He opened the door to his wagon and packed inside the Caliph’s ride were a hundred eyes all looking out at them.” He closed the door. “The merchant wagons here have been filled with people. Any others will be underneath. I won’t go about losing innocent lives who can’t afford the protection of steel from sellswords. That’s why we must protect the center at all costs.”

Ystin smiled, “Understood,” and rode off.

Janub chuckled as he left. “I’m glad to say I figured you wrong, Caliph,” he said, “How many toes did you have to step for merchants to give up room to peasants?”

“To hell with their toes.” said Al Jabr, “The greedy fools should be glad I don’t step on their heads.” He sat upright with his chin to God. “I won’t lead my people to death.”

It was then that the canyon appeared. The path was barely enough for the carts and wagons to fit inside as the two great looming walls boxed them in. Wood scraped against the stone as any one came out of line. The horses were packed in tight, barely two men could ride side by side. The torch light was stretched thin and the canyon walls were pitch black. All the riders craned their heads upwards to the thin river of stars above their heads. It was then that the darkness moved in on them.

Up ahead, a black shape jumped down into the canyon. Shouting and swords followed as the creature screamed with glee and cried out. More and more figures, hidden in the dark descended upon them. They were all giddy with blood lust. Behind him, Al Jabr heard Exoristos screaming as the sound of a warhammer crunched down and laughs were silenced. Up in front, a pegasus whinnied and the reflection of a sword swung through the abyss, falling enemies with ease. Dodging just in time, a spear hit the spot where Al Jabr’s head had been with a loud thunk. At the other end was a sneering little creature, bent over, green skinned, covered in boils, and a long hook nose. Standing about four feet, this ugly little creature screamed as it went for the crude sword at its belt. Before it could draw, an arrow shot through it’s forehead. The creature fell over dead as the lad called Zephyrus drew another arrow, his next target already found.

The man next to him at the reins drew his sword. “My caliph! Get inside, quick!”

Another of the creatures lept up next to them. Its sword was drawn and it shouted like mad as thick drool foamed at its mouth. Al Jabr raised his cane and with a thunk a steel needle shot through the monster’s skull. “Hardly, my good man, I think it’s only right I sit out here with my people.”

Sir Ystin and Exoristos appeared. Running on foot, they cut down the monsters in their way with ease. “Al Jabr!” said Exoristos, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied, “Protect the center wagons!”

“What in Hera’s name are these things?” shouted Exoristos. One of the creatures jumped up from behind her. In an instant, she spun around and smashed the filth against the canyon wall.

“Goblins, I believe,” said Ystin, “Though they usually don’t live in numbers this large.” He wiped the thick black blood from his sword. “Unless something compels them.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Al Jabr.

At that moment, a great crash shook the mountain. The horses who all reared in fright found themselves trapped.The shouts of men came from up front in the canyon. The goblins above them ceased throwing spears and arrows. They all began chanting. Another great crash as rocks came flying over the caravan from ahead in the path. Five dark round shapes flew through the night sky. One smashed against the canyon wall and tumbled down next to Ystin. Holding a torch to his face, Ystin saw it was one of Al Jabr’s men, his legs lying shattered and his face a bloody mess.

Another bellow shook the ground as all three of them looked up. From the light of the moon, it emerged. Standing in front of the caravan was a great bulk. Taller than any wagon and twice as wide, its bulbous belly scraped the walls of the canyon. Its skin a sickly light blue. Its fat oozing boils discernible even in the darkness. In place of a nose, it had too cavernous slits constantly dripping blood and mucus. The ugly best stood with a club made of a tree in one hand, and a horse, neck broken in the other.

“A troll,” said Sir Ystin, “Lovely.”

Al Jabr cast his book aside. The sun was going down and he had already made it through most of the pages, all of which had been particularly dull. It was so hard to find good reading, almost everyone’s discoveries and inventions were things he toyed with in his youth. However, the ride up the Pyrenees had been long and tedious. They couldn’t stop until they reached the French side. Ystin and Exoristos had been talking with some new-found friends, a bunch of performers they had gained awhile back. The only time he had enjoyed another’s company was when some petulant little princeling came asking if the caravan could move faster. He wished it could. Some reports had come from up front of movement beyond their shrinking vision. Thank God they had Ystin and Exoristos.

Everyone was becoming more and more nervous as they climbed. Plenty of merchants and lords had armed themselves with weapons their grandfather’s wielded when the edges were sharp, the fools. He’d explained to them what traveling this way entailed but they only realized the danger once they were beyond the point of return. Either they stick with the caravan or they head back down. No one went back down. His guard had asked him to wear armor, but Al Jabr turned it down. He said he had their surest confidence.

One of Ystin’s newfound friends came trotting by his wagon. An old man by the shade of his beard, yet appeared with the health and vigor of a man half his age. It helped that he was bald. “You there, stranger,” Al Jabr said from his seat, “what land to you hail from?”

“I am Janub,” the man said, “I spent my youth in Egypt.”

Al Jabr hid his smile, just has he thought. “And the rest?”

“I’ve been traveling with my companions. A strange bunch, I’ll admit, but we find kinship in our adventures,” said Janub.

Al Jabr laid his head back. “I used to have adventures, my own little band of misfits. By God, we got into all sorts of trouble in those days. Still do every now and then. I’d take facing dragons over dealing with pompous nobles, I have no tiny quarrels in killing the former. Though I do hope your travels have been far less hectic than mine.”

Janub smiled, “Depends on what you call hectic. Most people enjoy a little ‘freak show.’ They’ll empty their pockets over anything that wanders in from faraway lands. It’s why we make a killing on Christian stages. Though it often means the local lords will cast us out the second they’ve stopped clapping.”

Al Jabr sighed, “Yes, there is that. Tell me Janub, what drew your lot together?”

For a split second, the old knight’s looked like a deer looking down the wrong side of a bow. “Oh,” he said grudgingly, “that story...The five of us more ran into each other. Romulus, he’d be our manager was traveling about with Zephyrus, the young one with the bow. They went about performing trick shots and occasionally slaying local monsters, nothing too serious of course. They found Koichi, poor girl’s family was exiled from their land. They met me shortly thereafter. I’d put down my mace a long time ago, started working as a farm hand. Not the most glorious of professions but my pay was decent and it was quiet.”

“I envy you,” said Al Jabr.

“Bah, it couldn’t last,” said Janub, “once your blood is riled up for fighting, nothing on God’s earth can cool it. My peace was nice, but it’s nothing like traveling, meeting new people, and putting an end to a few goblins now and then.” He played with the leather thong at the end of his mace. “Nordroni got us out of a jam up in Norway, nearly froze to death there, and she’s been with us as well. It’s a rough life, never certain the bed I will be sleeping on, of course you know all about that.”

Al Jabr nodded, “Sometimes I feared it would be my death bed.”

“Ah, that too,” said the old knight.

“Tell me,” said the Caliph, “Have you ever been to Alba Sarum?”

“Can’t say so,” replied Janub, “always wanted to, heard wonderful things, but never went that far into France. Know the crowds there are really friendly, they have a strong love for dancers and jugglers and that type of folk. Perhaps I could even play my lute.”

Al Jabr looked tickled, “You play?”

“Sometimes,” said Janub, “My companions don’t care much for music but let me tell you, there is few a finer way to make friends, lovers, and business partners than with a little bit of melody. I’d play but,” Janub swept his gaze across the darkening landscape. “I’d imagine it’s best to keep our ears pricked.”

Al Jabr shuddered, “You’d be right. It should be starting soon.”

The sun had all but vanished in the west. The caravan was drawing tighter and tighter as the head was slowing down to a crawl. Shouts came from the rear to move up. They couldn’t afford to dawdle. Exoristos and Ystin were going up and down the road, checking across the darkness. Janub’s compatriots had their weapons out and were watching as well. The road became very silent as conversation ceased. The only sounds were the clops of hooves and rolling of wheels intercut with the buzzing of night time bugs. Guards on foot were walking at the front of the caravan with dogs flaring their nostrils accompanied by mounted men with torches set to burn as bright as possible.

The wagons carrying merchants, lords, and other such people were drawn to the middle, sandwiched between two great bulky carts. The fools had asked to say with their riches, but the Caliph would have none of it. Perhaps if they’d live to be half his age they’d grow some brains. All had grown horribly quiet as fear stirred in the caravan.

Sir Ystin came up close to his wagon. “Have you seen anything,” Al Jabr asked.

Ystin drew him in before whispering to him, “We’ve spotted movement in the back. Ex spotted some eyes in the darkness. Up front is a bit more quiet. I’d imagine we might be blocked off up ahead.”

“Leave that to me,” said Al Jabr.

A scout short of breath came running up the wagon. “My caliph,” he said, “We have a problem, up ahead the road dips into a small canyon about ten feet taller than the wagon roofs on both sides.”

The old man rolled his white beard, such a spot would be easy for an ambush. “Can we run men along the top of the walls?”

“No my caliph,” the poor boy said, “On our side, the walls go straight up.”

Al Jabr drew a heavy breath. He’d say this was a trap, but they had already climbed up into it. With the darkness growing on all sides, they would likely have no other choice. “Sir Ystin,” he said to the shining knight, “I want you and Exoristos to draw in close to the center of the caravan. No matter what. Understood?”

Ystin looked baffled, “Al Jabr, why not have us scale the sides on Vanguard?”

“Because while I know how fierce you both are, I’m afraid you are only two. Don’t case yourself aside chasing heroics,” the old man said.

“But what about the commoners?” asked Ystin rightfully, “Where will they be?”

“Right here,” said Al Jabr, “He opened the door to his wagon and packed inside the Caliph’s ride were a hundred eyes all looking out at them.” He closed the door. “The merchant wagons here have been filled with people. Any others will be underneath. I won’t go about losing innocent lives who can’t afford the protection of steel from sellswords. That’s why we must protect the center at all costs.”

Ystin smiled, “Understood,” and rode off.

Janub chuckled as he left. “I’m glad to say I figured you wrong, Caliph,” he said, “How many toes did you have to step for merchants to give up room to peasants?”

“To hell with their toes.” said Al Jabr, “The greedy fools should be glad I don’t step on their heads.” He sat upright with his chin to God. “I won’t lead my people to death.”

It was then that the canyon appeared. The path was barely enough for the carts and wagons to fit inside as the two great looming walls boxed them in. Wood scraped against the stone as any one came out of line. The horses were packed in tight, barely two men could ride side by side. The torch light was stretched thin and the canyon walls were pitch black. All the riders craned their heads upwards to the thin river of stars above their heads. It was then that the darkness moved in on them.

Up ahead, a black shape jumped down into the canyon. Shouting and swords followed as the creature screamed with glee and cried out. More and more figures, hidden in the dark descended upon them. They were all giddy with blood lust. Behind him, Al Jabr heard Exoristos screaming as the sound of a warhammer crunched down and laughs were silenced. Up in front, a pegasus whinnied and the reflection of a sword swung through the abyss, falling enemies with ease. Dodging just in time, a spear hit the spot where Al Jabr’s head had been with a loud thunk. At the other end was a sneering little creature, bent over, green skinned, covered in boils, and a long hook nose. Standing about four feet, this ugly little creature screamed as it went for the crude sword at its belt. Before it could draw, an arrow shot through it’s forehead. The creature fell over dead as the lad called Zephyrus drew another arrow, his next target already found.

The man next to him at the reins drew his sword. “My caliph! Get inside, quick!”

Another of the creatures lept up next to them. Its sword was drawn and it shouted like mad as thick drool foamed at its mouth. Al Jabr raised his cane and with a thunk a steel needle shot through the monster’s skull. “Hardly, my good man, I think it’s only right I sit out here with my people.”

Sir Ystin and Exoristos appeared. Running on foot, they cut down the monsters in their way with ease. “Al Jabr!” said Exoristos, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied, “Protect the center wagons!”

“What in Hera’s name are these things?” shouted Exoristos. One of the creatures jumped up from behind her. In an instant, she spun around and smashed the filth against the canyon wall.

“Goblins, I believe,” said Ystin, “Though they usually don’t live in numbers this large.” He wiped the thick black blood from his sword. “Unless something compels them.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Al Jabr.

At that moment, a great crash shook the mountain. The horses who all reared in fright found themselves trapped.The shouts of men came from up front in the canyon. The goblins above them ceased throwing spears and arrows. They all began chanting. Another great crash as rocks came flying over the caravan from ahead in the path. Five dark round shapes flew through the night sky. One smashed against the canyon wall and tumbled down next to Ystin. Holding a torch to his face, Ystin saw it was one of Al Jabr’s men, his legs lying shattered and his face a bloody mess.

Another bellow shook the ground as all three of them looked up. From the light of the moon, it emerged. Standing in front of the caravan was a great bulk. Taller than any wagon and twice as wide, its bulbous belly scraped the walls of the canyon. Its skin a sickly light blue. Its fat oozing boils discernible even in the darkness. In place of a nose, it had too cavernous slits constantly dripping blood and mucus. The ugly best stood with a club made of a tree in one hand, and a horse, neck broken in the other.

“A troll,” said Sir Ystin, “Lovely.”


	29. Pass at the Pyrenees Part 2

Inside the wagon it was dark. Vandal pushed his way through the crowd of servants and handmaidens and saddle boys. Before coming up the mountain, the Caliph Al Jabr had ordered all lords and merchants make room in their quarters for commoners. Their wagon was too cramped for anyone to even sit down. For hours the rocked back and forth as they headed up the mountains. The only windows had been boarded Everyone felt sick to their stomach, but no one darned leave. Suddenly the wagon had stopped. Then men and women screamed as monstrous cries were heard outside. They could hear their friends and family fighting with swords and flesh being ripped to shreds. They were completely blind in this darkness.

Vandal knocked the commoners aside as he made his way through. He stomped on toes and pushed people’s heads out of his way. Finally he slogged through to the wagon’s bed. “Medraut?” he said in his crooked Bove voice.

“That’s Prince Medraut to you,” said the child. He lay comfortably on his bed. “Find me something to do, I am bored.”

There was a scream. Something thumped against the side of a wagon. Then only the happy squeals of monsters and ripping of flesh.

Vandal kept face as he smelled urine from the boy’s sheets. “I am sorry, my Prince,” he said, “But it seems there are other things to attend to.” As much as Vandal reveled in the thoughts of Al Jabr out there, possibly fending off goblins with what little strength that weathered husk gave him. He could not risk that. Should the Caliph perish, his one quick route to Alba Sarum would be gone. That couldn’t happen. “The battle outside sounds fierce. Should the creatures get inside.”

“Then you will protect me,” said Prince Medraut instantly. He tried to hide it but Vandal heard the tone of fear in his voice.

“Forgive me, My Prince, but I am a knobbed man with terrible eyes. I doubt I can be much of service in this darkness,” said Vandal. While he had Al Jabr’s well being to fear for, for the moment, he did not extend Medraut that same kindness. Thankfully, he had an easy excuse to abandon him now.

The people in the wagon screamed. Sound of arrowheads hitting wood sounded above them.

Vandal rubbed his brow. These mountain creatures were lucky he wasn’t out there among them.

With a crash, the door to the wagon was ripped apart. Splinters shot everywhere. the wagon tilted as the mass of people moved back. In the doorway, cast upon by the moonlight, lay a soldier dead and three giggling creatures looking in at them. Vandal hadn’t had the misfortune of dealing with goblins in a long time.

The nasty creatures held up their crude swords and stepped over the dead man. Their empty eyes shined bright in the darkness. Vandal was fixed  If he attacked them he would likely give himself away to Medraut. If he did nothing, plenty of these people would die and that might draw attention to him and Prince Medraut anyway. A thousand outcomes rattled in his head. Damn goblins.

Just then a hammer emerged through the doorway. It came down on a goblin with a loud crash. Black blood shot everywhere. A few women fainted. Standing the the doorway was Exoristos, her hammer smashed through the floor of the wagon. She smiled, “Hello vermin.”

The goblins exchanged looks. The remains of their friend was splattered across the floor and on them. Stupid creatures that they were, they leapt at her.

Before either could land a blow, the Amazon had her chain, each end had a claw in the shape of a dragon’s. She looped it around one of the goblin’s neck mid flight. The other was jumping at her, ready to plunge a sword into her stomach. She held up her arm, her bracelet knocked the blade from the creature’s paws. With the back of her hand, she smacked the goblin into the side of the wagon. The other one hung from her chain. She whipped the creature up and brought it back down, crashing into the ground with a bone cracking snap. The other goblin lay dead in the corner. She looked up at the frozen people and said, “Sorry about the mess.” She dropped the goblin to the floor, plucked up her warhammer, and lunged out the door.

The entire wagon was transfixed. Vandal was like stone. The Amazon had been less than ten feet away and hadn’t seen him. Perhaps his luck hadn’t run out just yet.

The battle was still raging outside and now the door was open wide. A soldier walked in, ignoring the dead man and three dead goblins in his way. “Whose wagon is this?” he asked.

There was only silence. Medraut was pretending not to cry and stunk of piss.

“This is the temporary residence of Prince Medraut,” said Vandal.

The soldier gave a disapproving look. “With your door breached, we are setting up some guards around this wagon. Keep away from the door as best you can. If you have anything to barricade it, I suggest you use it.”

“Thank you, brave soldier,” said Vandal.

The man nodded and walked out, his sword drawn.

Vandal sighed.

The moment the soldier was gone, the servants in the wagon pointed out that Medraut’s bed would be moved in front of the door. “Like hell it will!” shouted the Prince, “Bove! Get these ungrateful rats off!”

Vandal wasn’t listening. He grabbed the sword fixed in the dead soldier’s hands and walked out into the battle.

It was nice out here, he noticed. The mountains were cool and the moon light was beautiful. He could smell the pine trees. Being cramped up in that stuffy wagon with who knows how many people had been dreadful. And then there were the goblins. He drew his hood tight, making sure to cover his face. One of the little freaks was looking at him hungrily. Vandal smiled his serpent smile. The nasty thing ran at him sword drawn. Before it was in range, he ran it through. the steel felt light in his hands. The pathetic monster wriggled like an inchworm at the end of his blade. Its laughter turned to screams. Oh, he had missed this.

With a swing, the goblin slide off his sword and flew into the canyon wall. Five more were already upon him and Vandal let loose a roar. “Come you scrawny rats! Come and meet my steel!” 

 

Nordroni’s bones rattled from the goblin’s scream as she drove her spear through its heart. She’d lost track of Exoristos who’d ran up ahead. One of the wagons had been opened up. Arrows shot by her in the darkness. All the torches had been taken up front. The end of the caravan was closing up on the middle as the men at the reins wished to pull forward. No more goblins jumped down from the canyon walls. They were likely all in here with them. Nordroni fought her way to the back of the line as Sir Ystin and Exoristo were going ahead.

Another arrow went tearing by. She screamed as the pain in her leg seared. Blood ran down her pants. Another group of the goblins were moving in on her. Their pale eyes all fixed.

Out of the shadows came Koichi. Her emerald armor shining even now. She cut like a dancer. Her sword slicing through with grace. Koichi dropped two in one swing another before the creature knew what was upon him.

“Good to see you,” said Nordroni. She bashed a goblin’s head in with her shield, but not before it jabbed her in the foot. Ignoring the pain, her spear found another target and ran it through. “Any clue where the others are?”

Koichi’s armor rattled and clanked as she cut open an archer. “Zeph’s up by the center. I think Janub was there as well. I haven’t seen Romulus.”

A golden light told them where. Romulus stood behind them, holding his iron cross. The goblins caught in the light screamed in pain. Their flesh bubbled as Romulus chanted in Latin. “ Lux Dei  fervet mihi. Censemini. ” One of the creatures wriggled around on it’s shattered knees, unable to escape. It screamed out into the night until it was silent. Its sizzling corpse stunk something foul. Romulus looked to his knights, “The next three wagons all have people in them. We need to move.”

Together they formed a line. With Koichi and Romulus at her side, Nordroni advanced. Her spear caught the packs of goblins. Koichi’s katana and Romulus’ broadsword dropped all who passed her. They marched over the bodies of fallen monsters. Soldiers up ahead protecting the drivers cheered as they passed.

“Stay by your post!” shouted Romulus, “The people are what need protecting!”

They arrived at the last of the wagons full of people. Standing at the very end of the canyon was Janub. Surrounded at all sides by goblins, he cracked their skulls open. His mace swinging with complete control. Almost blending into the shadows, he was covered in black blood. “Come all you want, beasts!” he shouted, “You will not make me fault.”

“Janub!” shouted Nordroni.”

Turning around, the old knight exclaimed, “About time you got here. I was starting to feel tired. Give me a hand please?”

Nordroni smiled. Even in pitch darkness and enemies at all around, Janub was calm. Her leg felt a blaze and her foot ruined her balance but she held in. Her allies were at all sides, they would not fall. 

The last of the goblins was cleaved in half by Romulus’ broadsword. It’s streaks of silver boiling away the blood. “Good job Roses. Koichi, run up to the front, tell them we have the rear. We will hold it as long as needed.”

A great crash shook the ground. Shouting echoed all the way from the front. Up ahead, Nordroni saw black shapes fly across the night sky. Some men and a horse. The snap of bones was heard when they fell. “Should we-” She was about to say “Should we help.” When another shockwave rocked the mountain. Beyond the canyon walls, at the tree line, the peaks of pines parted. The sound of tree trunks snapping shot off like thunder. Janub roared as he fell to his knees. 

Emerging from the tree line, a great round figure emerged. It walked into the light of the moon and the knights froze in place. They all recognized the troll. Nordroni had met her share of them in her old homelands, but never with this few a number. The great blubbery beast walked its way up the mountain. Its heavy lips hanging off yellow crooked fangs, its round tongue sliding around in its maw.

An arrow shot across the night. With a soft thunk, it pinned the creature’s rolling lip to it’s chest. “What in God’s name is that monstrosity?” shouted Zephyrus. He stood atop the last wagon, already notching another shot.

“That’s a troll,” said Romulus, “Get ready.”

Nordroni’s spear had fallen trolls before. She’d never heard Romulus say he’d faced one. “Koichi, Romulus, attack its belly. The fat is too thin for most blades.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try though,” said Zephyrus. He shot another right up the creature’s slit nostril.

“Janub,” said Nordroni, “Bash its feet, keep it distracted. I shall pierce it’s vile heart.” Her leg still stung but her footing was sure. “Wait until it reaches the canyon!” she shouted.

The beast approached, its footsteps like thunder. The layers of lard rippled in every stride. The Roses stood firm.

Zephyrus reached for an arrow in his quiver. The broadhead glowed holy light. Zeph’s aim was true. He sunk his shot into the creature’s center. The arrow lit a blaze, lighting the target. The troll acted indifferent to the fire. Nordroni saw the beast dragged behind it a club made from an oak tree. Zephyrus kept firing his holy arrows. Three more stuck from its belly before it reached the canyon walls. Its excessive girth was too large to enter.

“Now!” shouted Nordroni.

Romulus, Janub, and Koichi ran towards the troll. As they did, it lifted up its great club. The troll grunted as the tree moved in a slow arc. When the club came crashing down ,the Roses had already moved out of the way. Still the mountain shook under them.

Janub was the first to reach the enemy. The troll’s legs were saggy with fat. The old knight found a better spot. Its knee appeared to be less protected. Swinging sideways, the mace met with a satisfying crack.

The troll roared. Its hanging lip slide across it’s chest. Koichi slashed her sword against the Achilles tendon. The creature screamed as hot blood shot everywhere. With no balance, the troll toppled over towards the canyon. Its blubbery body wedged its way in the between the thin walls. It looked down over the knights with its empty eyes. Its breath smelled of carrion

With the troll blocking the entrance, Koichi was trapped outside. Nodroni heard her hacking away at the creature’s hindquarters. This was up to Romulus then. He ran forward and plunged his broadsword in as high as he could. Pulling down with all his might, his sword split open fat flesh. The troll’s belly opened like castle doors. Long heavy intestines came spew in out. Blood poured down on them. The troll squealed.

“Doesn’t this damned thing die?” shouted Zephyrus. He shot more holy arrows. He scored two shots to the eyes. Another pinned the round tongue to the side its maw. “End it already!”

Nordroni held her spear. She aimed for the monster’s heart. Her blood was a blaze. She screamed mid-charge. “Off to Hell with you monster!” she shouted. Then she missed.

Her aim was true but her spear had not pierced through all its organs. The troll reared up, pushing against the canyon walls. “Back up!” shouted Romulus. The troll stood on its ruined legs, supported by the rock wall. Koichi had climbed atop and sliced its shoulder. Ignoring her, the monster brought its club down. this time on the canyon itself. Rocks tumbled down. The Roses fled back. The last cart shot ahead, Zephyrus holding onto the roof.

Nordroni had fallen down. She starred as the monster roared with her spear sticking from its belly. Rocks blocked their way to the troll as it grabbed Koichi off it’s back. In its hand, she was slicing at its wrists but she couldn’t undo its grip.

The troll oogled her with curiosity, then lifted her up high above its gaping maw.

“Damn it, no!” shouted Zephyrus. His arrows weren’t distracting it.

Romulus and Janub were running and began scrambling up the rock pile.

Suddenly from behind came a boisterous bellow. Vandal Savage came running by with uncanny speed. In one hand was a sword, in the other a battle axe, both turned black with goblin blood. “Stand aside whelps!” he screamed, “Lest you be torn asunder! Face me you fat ugly bastard! I promise you real combat!” With just a step he jumped atop the rock pile. With another, he landed on the troll’s breasts. His sword plunged into it’s lower neck and holding himself up, he swung the axe right into its neck. His smile shone in the moonlight. “You’re a poor excuse for monster.”

Blood came bursting out. Vandal was covered head to toe in an instant. The greasy gore showed down on the Roses. Koichi bounced off the monster’s forehead and collapsed on the rock pile. The troll fell back on its useless legs, its blubber jiggling as it fell.

Vandal still stood atop its neck. He ripped the now red axe from the neck. He turned to face the Compass Roses, “I don’t know what just came over me.”

 

When day broke, the bodies of fallen soldiers were accounted for. The goblins were all burned. Another troll had attacked the front of the caravan, but Ystin and Exoristos had handled it on their own. Bove later returned to Prince Medraut’s cart covered in blood. He said he’d been hiding under the wagon the whole time.


	30. Dreaming Children

The hour had grown late. Rahnu, Master of Arms, rapped his knuckles on the study door. “Prince Hazm! Your need your rest!” There was no response. 

“Well is he there or not?” asked the city treasurer. He’d been waiting all day to meet with the prince to discuss the urgent matter of some traders by way of Constantinople who’d been dodging import taxes. Behind him was the commander of the city guard who’d been begging to throw the insolent rats out.

“Shut up, You’ll speak with him in due time,” said Rahnu. The boy’s general health was more concern than shady Byzantine merchants. He pounded at the door. “Hazm! Half the night’s already gone. Shouldn’t you retire?”

There was a pause. “One second, Rahnu, I’m just finishing up some notes.”

Rahnu sighed. The boy couldn’t be more unlike his father if he tried. The second the caliph leaves, he all but becomes him. The Master of Arms pushed open the door. The air was rank and laid thick with the smell of ink. The study was dark, the fires had burned out to embers. Rahnu kicked over books in the darkness. He swore when his boot went through a piece of  parchment. An island of light flickered in the chasm of bookshelves. Books and manuscripts poured out over his father’s study table and onto the floor. The armor of the Silent Knight was laying in parts. Papers had been placed under it, that were riddled with notes. There was Hazm.

The prince was thin as a rod, his stomach barely even there. He wore that same robes he’d put on a week ago and he stunk something horrible. “I told you, I'm almost done,” he said.

“That’s what you’ve been saying all day and I haven’t seen you eat,” said Rahnu. “There are the duties to Al Wadi, you know. I’ve been keeping the city council busy but I do not know for how long. The city needs its ruler, Hazm.”

“I cannot see to it until I have found my connection to this…” he motioned to the bits of armor strewn about the floor, “thing.”

“It’s just some armor, my prince,”said Rahnu, “your father likely bought it out of curiosity, perhaps even nostalgia. You know how he is. You probably heard about it in one of your stories.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Rahnu, my father has notes here about it. ‘The Silent Knights of Avalon. Sworn protectors of the the island King Arthur was taken to after his battle with Mordred’ He knew about these things.”

Rahnu craned his neck over and read the Sultan’s notes. “Looks like it’s all in cypher,” he said.

“Yes, it took me a few days to crack, but I finally got it. His notes aren’t that difficult. It clearly states here he believes them to be powered by some sort of mechanics he doesn’t recognize.”

“I see, yes, that’s all very interesting.” Rahnu grabbed the boy’s collar. He pinched a nerve and Hazm fell limp. The Master of Arms sighed and pulled the prince in his wheeled chair away from the table. “God help the Sultan if his descendents are half like him.”

 

There was nothing. Nothing but the gentle sound of the beach. The small waves crashed upon the shore.  The tide was coming in. The water was creeping slowly up the sand.Hazm opened his eyes. They were no longer sore. He made a fist and the wet sand oozed from his fingers. The sweet warmth of the sun made his skin tingle. The sea water lapped at his feet. He could feel his feet. He could flex his toes. His knees could bend. They were still the scrawny little things they had always been but now the moved to his accord. He tried opening his legs, then closing them. They moved. Slowly, like they were waking up, but they moved. He tried standing, he’d never done that before. He raised his knee. His foot sunk into the wet sand. He tried to shift his weight over his foot. It was arduous but it it worked. He extended the knee, now below him. He raised up. His balance was hard to find. He was being pulled back.  He moved his legs back with him and they fell out. He collapsed sideways upon the beach. The call of seagulls mocked him.

Next to him was a piece of driftwood. He stuck it deep into the sand and lifted himself up onto his new feet. He was much heavier than he would have thought. Hazm found another discarded hunk of wood on the shore almost equal in length. Using them as crutches, he made his way down the beach. He’d loved to rest upon the shores of Al Wadi, but here he had no soldiers hovering behind him. He was free.

He stopped every so often to examine shells that stood out of the sand or little crabs that made their way to the water. He didn’t recognize them. He examined some of the rocks that lay cast about, he hadn’t the fullest knowledge in geology, but he knew there were not from home. And yet this place felt like home.

A dense forest of pine trees stood not far inland. Hazm figured he might as well explore this place, even if it was only a dream. Here, the soft sand gave way to hard soil where moss covered rocks protruded from the ground. Thick roots curved out from the earth, the entire way was lumpy and rigid. Hazm’s crutches slipped many times. He feared he’d fall and break something. The trees seemed much higher than when they had on the beach. Instead of being only say twice his height they now towered higher than the tops of the palace. Their pines kept most of the sun out. Then he heard someone.

Hazm heard not voices or singing, just someone humming a melody. It sounded like something he had heard long ago. It came from deep within the forest. Hazm made his way, hopping over roots and rocks. The trees were growing taller and wider. It was then he found a brook. Just a tiny sliver of a brook that cut into the soil and ran churning down a cut between the trees, right in a straight line. The brook ran to the humming.

 

She’d been walking through the forest. Her clothes catching up dirt and twigs. She paid them no heed as she followed the humming. Finally she reached a point where the pines stopped. There was a straight line that cut right through the forest. She saw someone else there. Standing at the side of a brook and starring in the direction of the humming, and she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Hazm!” Hadjia cried.

By some miracle he was standing, albeit on wooden crutches. This must be a dream. He was much taller than she’d expected. Her brother looked up. His face lit up like a blazing fire. “Hadjia!” he cried out. Swinging on his crutches, he ran to her. He moved with a speed unnatural to him. Hadjia stood dumbstruck. When he reached her, he cast his crutches aside and collapsed on her with a great hug. His massive arms crushed her. “I have missed you,” he said.

Hadjia caught the start of tears in his eyes. She was powerless to hold him as his arms held her. Finally his grip loosened and she held him from falling to the ground. “It is wonderful to see you.” This was a dream too sweet to wake her from. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve been following that sound,” he said.

The sweet sound of the sing-song humming echoed all around. It was as rich as honey. “Me as well,” she replied. “It seems to becoming from downstream.” She laid her brother down on the ground. “Climb on,” she said, offering him his back.

“Whatever this dream is, I can use my legs somewhat. I usually prefer to use them,” said Hazm.

“Very well,” said Hadjia. The word “usually’ rolled around in her mind. “Do you have dreams like this often?”

Hazm hoisted himself up, “Yes. I like to enjoy it as much as I can.” He made his way along the brook before craning over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

“Coming!” shouted Hadjia, “There’s no need to be rude!” Together they made their way through the woods. The humming grew louder as the trees did. Still, the brook stood out amongst the great pines in its clear cut hall through the forest. Hazm hurdled his way alongside her. They did so in silence, the melody of the brook filling her ears. They made their way along the brook for an hour or so until the line of trees opened up onto a lake.

The pool sprawled in all directions, the other side just barely visible, and was round on all sides. At the shores sat a woman who’d been humming. She was cross legged upon a rock combing her glistening white hair. As Hadjia and her brother approached, she began to sing in a tongue unknown to them. The words were coarse and rough but she sung them with perfect cadence. The woman faced them.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a wide smile. Her features were like carved from marble, sturdy but rounded and refined. “Come, sit with me children.”

Hadjia looked to her brother. This woman had many strange things about her the dwelled just out of the corner of her eye. The woman wore a plain white gown and a slender crown around her head. 

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come. I am Viviane,” she held out her hand for Hadjia.

With hesitation, she took it. 

“I am glad you finally arrived.” said Viviane, “I hope the trip wasn’t too long. I have been so eager to meet you two. You’re quite the extraordinary ones.”

“How so?” asked Hadjia. She had taken a seat beside the strange lady.

Viviane smiled, revealing her teeth. Up close Hadjia realized they were like needles. “It’s not often you are two. In fact I don’t think it’s ever happened. Why I couldn’t tell you.”

“Is that strange?’ asked Hazm. He had continued to stay on his feet. 

“Oh, it’s not, I just can’t tell you,” Viviane smiled again, “Sorry, but rules are rules. I’d say it’s the shift. Lots of things are out of order now. I can’t say I am pleased but it makes things much more interesting. The stars are all unaligned, the scales of fate aren’t just unbalanced but being rebuilt. You two will have to be weary of that. You’re part of a new world, try to make the best of it.”

“This is like something out of your stories, Hazm,” said Hadjia. “All cryptic nonsense.”

Viviane looked at her in confusion, “You don’t know yet?” She paused. “Oh dear, that can’t be good.”

“Don’t know what?” asked Hadjia.

At the second she said those words lighting cracked across the sky. The sun was swallowed up in black clouds. Darkness began to creep out of the forest. Rain burst from the skies, showering down in thick drops. Viviane looked around in shock. “This realm is mine to command! Who dares come here?”

“I do,” slivered a voice.

As the tops of the trees caught fire, she stood there on the surface of the lake. She was dressed in black, her face hidden under a hood. Many charms and bracelets hung from her robes. “I trend on your domain, witch.”

Viviane snarled at the figure. Her rows of fangs displayed. She drew a sword from out of sight and held it forth. “You’ve been tampering with what is not yours,” she hissed.

“Funny you should say that of all times,” the figure said. She held her twisted hands up with a glowing sign. “Leave them.”

Casting her sheath aside, Viviane carried her broadsword like a knight. She snarled at the figure on her lake. She walked to the shore. Her feet stood on the water like solid ground.

The hooded figure revealed a sword under her clothes. “You think you can match me with a sword?”

“It is not my prefered weapon, but you’re one I’d like to stick,” Viviane said.

The figure laughed, “Very well.”

Hadjia remained on the beach, transfixed by the sight of the two strangers circling about on the lake’s surface. The forest was raging all around. She called out to them but they did not hear her. She looked to her brother. His crutches had caught ablaze. He was ignorant as the fire caught him. Hadjia ran to him, screaming his name. Her brother didn’t hear her. She hit at the fire with her hands, but as she did, Hazm’s body crumbled away to ash. He fall to the ground and blew away on the wind. Hadjia cried as the thunder and fire raged around her.  Her fingers were burning away, crumbling to ash. Then she woke up.

She awoke in a cold sweat. She cast aside her silken blankets, kicking up her bed, and fall to the floor. It was her bedroom in Themyscira. She was safe. She collected herself.

She made use of the chamberpot and found she was too restless to sleep again. She looked out upon the city of New Athens at night. The many great buildings that formed the city scape. She looked out to where the sea met the stars. She couldn’t escape the feeling that the hooded figure with the crooked hands was coming.


	31. Beyond the Pass

The steep path up the Pyrenees had finally sloped downwards. Ystin rode ahead of the caravan. He kept his eyes fixed for anything around the rocky turns. The people behind were as stone silent as they’d been the way up, but now a they were burdened with a different dread.

Following the battle at the pass, the dead had been collected. Ystin, Ex, and the Roses had all helped in the search. There’d been bodies with the faces of friends they’d sung with on the way up. Others were unrecognizable. They counted fifty-seven men slain in the fray. Many cried for their friends and lovers. Al Jabr oversaw the whole ordeal. Though his face was unflinching, Ystin saw him as the saddest of all.

The bodies had been wrapped in cloth soaked to preserve them and loaded on carts. They were to be taken back to Al Wadi, to be buried with their families. Al Jabr spoke to the fallen in his own tongue. Ystin recalled only a few words, “Go brave men to the grace of God. You died so we live. For that you are immortal.” As the heavy carts made their way back down the mountain, Janub took out his lute and played his own little song.

Ystin turned back to see how far he’d gone ahead. The caravan made its way down the mountain slowly. The only sound was Janub’s strumming. No one spoke. All on his own up the trail, Ystin noticed dried blood was fixed to his face. Rubbing it off, he saw it was red and black alike. The same was with his armor. It was stiff and dirty. He hadn’t had a chance to clean it. He made Vanguard halt and took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the pegasus’ long neck. His steed was warm and comforting.

“There you are!” Exoristos shouted with glee. “I’ve been wondering where you went off to!” The Amazon was clearly cut and bruised, yet she paid it no heed. “What in Hera’s name are you doing?”

“Nothing,” replied Ystin. He sat upright in his saddle and kept leading the trail. He looked out onto the French country side. The lush greenery invited him.

Exoristos flared her nostrils. “Don’t tell me you’ve been swung out of step by last night.”

Ystin took his time thinking over his response. “I usually am.” He didn’t know why. He’d seen plenty of battles, plenty of wars. They had been far worse before, but right now he felt empty. Snakes curled in his stomach.

The Amazon sighed. “I can understand why,” she said, “as invigorating as that was, ‘tis a sorrow it cost so many.” She waited for Ystin to talk. He said nothing. “I only wish to raise your spirits, Ystin. Forgive me.”

“It’s alright,” replied Ystin. “I haven’t been myself for a while.”

Exoristos understood. Several nights now, she’d been woken to Ystin moving in his sleep with tears streaming from his shut eyes. She put her hand on his leg but fell short of what to say. “You’ll always be Ystin, the Shining Knight,” was all she could muster. “There’s none else that can claim that,” she added on. She followed his gaze over the span of French countryside. “I’ll imagine it will be good to see the Horsewoman again, can’t see someone like her enjoying being cooped up in a city for very long.”

Ystin smiled, “Yes, I’d imagine so.”

 

Though he felt dreadfully sick, Al Jabr kept himself inside his wagon. His mind was aflame. He’d set out knowing the loss he would likely have. Still it was more than he’d expected, even with Ystin and Exoristos’ help.  It’d been many years since he had the poor fortune to see this type of fighting up close. His weathered hands were shaking beyond his control. His stomach felt prompt to rupture as well. He had tried to sleep, but his mind would not stop recalling last night. He saw himself in the small mirror upon his desk. He was no longer the young adventurer he remembered. He saw an old man, a beard of pure white with hair falling out. What sort of man did his people see that they’d follow him here? He wish he knew. If only Hazm or Hadjia were with him.

It was then that the wagon buckled. He fell to the floor. The pain spread across his whole body. His old bones ached.

The gazer on his door slid open. “My caliph!” spoke his driver, “Are you alright?” The door flew open as the guard entered the room and grabbed Al Jabr by the arm pits to hoist him.

“No,” he said, “I can stand on my own.” He held his hand out and the guard gave him his cane. “Thank you.” He ran the cane into the floorboards. Fighting with every ounce of dignity he had, he raised up to his feet. He felt his knee crack. “Damn my age,” he muttered. The guard looked at him, waiting to be dismissed. He sent him off with a wave of his hand. When the door shut, Al Jabr made his way to his bed. The wagon lurched again. Al Jabr collapsed upon his bed. Something from overhead came crashing down to the floor. He groaned as the lantern on the roof swung like mad. He looked over to see what had fallen. It was that.

An old wooden box lay on the floor of his wagon. It was cut with eight sides, shockingly fine craft work. The lone marking on it was a square containing a bolt of lightning. Al Jabr raised himself from the matress. His back strained to reach. A smaller jolt came. Something else fell from above. With a flash, the old man caught the object before it too fell to the floor. He was caught off guard. Such speed was surprising. Then again, he was holding the box.

What he had caught was a small felt pouch. Inside was something hard as stone. Though the corners of the sack, rays of dark black light shone. A chill ran down his arm. Al Jabr wished to drop it. Instead he tucked it back from where it had fallen. He felt disease crawling on his hand from just a touch. Now there was the case of the wooden box. It felt lighter in his hands than it should. He was about to put it back on the shelf when the oddest idea struck him.

Be it his curiosity or just him growing sentimental, he opened it. Inside was a cup. Nothing more, nothing less. It was crude, like cheap pottery sold on the streets of some shady alleyway. Three rings ran around its side. Why he had no idea. It made the thing no less ugly. For the days it had been in his home, he had not cared for it. It was only a cup after all. No special properties about it. Magic was just such a poor excuse for the nature of the world. After all, with his inventions, he could easily walk into a town and be said a sorcerer. But there was something odd about this cup. He had heard the tales, he’d been in the company of Christians that long. Plenty of knights had sworn to it, Sir Ystin plenty of times. Yet here, God had delivered it into his hands. The Holy Grail fit nicely in his grasp.

He mulled for a bit, the small cup sitting between his fingers. Months ago just letting the cursed thing out its box grew a forest in his hall. Only the diamond in the pouch was holding it back now. Perhaps there was some truth to the superstitions. “Nonsense,” he said. It was just a hunk of clay. He placed it back in the box and upon the shelf. The wagon lurched again and he went falling onto his bed.

 

No one spoke much as they made their way down the mountain. Koichi sat back in an open cart. Many children watched in awe as they’d never seen the warrior without her armor. The green plates rocked with the cart’s dips and bumps. There was much padding Koichi had fixed on. The armor had not been made for her. Her katanas rested to the side, just within her sight. She dismayed at the sight before her. The beautiful work was covered with foul black blood. Luck was with her, the mountains were humid and it hadn’t dried yet.  She ran water along her cuirass and rubbed with a cloth. It was good enough. She could do the real work when they stopped for the night. She washed the chestplate again, just to be certain.

She looked up at the strumming of a lute. Janub was riding along side playing some simple little notes. “Hello Koichi!” he said as he matched the cart’s speed. “How goes the repair? I don’t recall those monsters laying as much as a finger on you.”

Koichi set aside the cuirass. “It’s a gift,” she said. She picked up a grieve.

Janub’s shoulder was wrapped in bandage. Apparently he’d been fighting with an arrowhead sunk in his shoulder and barely noticed. Though now his playing was thrown off when he struck high notes. “Any requests you’d like to take?” he asked.

“None at the moment,” she replied. She looked over at the children eying her armor. “What about them?” she asked.

Janub looked ready to laugh at her. “You always did have the best sense of humor.” He addressed the children. “Have any songs that tickle your young hearts?”

The children smiled. “Play something funny!”

“Funny?” said Janub, “I am a warrior! What do I know of good humor? There’s not room for it in this world!”

The children didn’t seem to get the joke.

“I know!” said Janub, “I shall sing of Sir Bartholomew! The knight with the singing posterior! Come gather round young ones. I need a chorus for this one!” The children all shuffled over towards Janub’s steed. 

As one boy went by, Koichi grabbed him by the wrist. The boy fidgeted, trying to pull his clenched hand away. Koichi looked him dead in the eye. The child opened his palm and Koichi snatched back three laces. Without them, she’d never put the armor back together. She cursed to herself as the boy ran off. She’d lost far too many laces before. Now all she had were the crude leather replacements. As Janub rounded the bend, she spoke a few verses of Sir Bartholomew under her breath.

 

Vandal sat in naked disgrace. After making meat of the troll last night, his clothes were covered with blood. Lest anyone become suspicious, he had stripped himself and lay down under a wagon. He said the goblins had ripped the clothes off his back and he crawled between the wheels for safety. In the hours before dawn, no one could truly discern his face. He blood and cuts that covered his body were caused as he ran in fright of the carnage. He had to bite his tongue to keep his pride caged. He feared that was becoming easier with his time with Medraut.

Before the sun was up, Vandal was safely inside the prince’s wagon, trapped in here until Medraut saw fit to suit him with clothes. The little lord had denied him that dignity. He saw it a fitting punishment for servants who abandon their master. Despite his best efforts the petulant whims of this child were not overthrown. Without any means to cover his face, the guards would spot him. He could have easily taken this caravan by storm on his own, but Ystin and Exoristos were too great a risk. Now he was cut off from the Roses. He sat in his master’s wagon, bare as the day he’d been spawned, and quieting the rage that boiled within him. 

The newly fitted door opened, the little prince had a new one before the last body was collected. The child walked in. In each hand was a bowl. “Come on eat up,” said Medraut. Some scolding broth poured over Vandal’s face. “It’s all you’ll be getting, Bove.”

Vandal’s hands desired the boy’s throat. Yet he held his anger. “Thank you,” he said as best he could. Once he was at Alba Sarum, he could leave this welp and plan with the Roses. Medraut looked at him impatiently, “Well come on. Eat up.” He had been given no spoon. The soup was hot. Its rich aroma was marvelous. He held the wooden bowl to his lips and sipped.

“Gah!” he shouted. He slung the bowl into the corner. Broth and vegetables went everywhere. The horrid salty taste resided in his mouth. Medraut was howling like mad as Vandal swore. His vision was turning red. All he could hear was Medraut’s snorting. His hands raised up. The child’s neck would be nothing but a twig. Medraut kept laughing at him. Now it ended. He wrapped his fingers around this wretched throat. A satisfying crunch at it would all be over.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said the prince.

Vandal collected himself. He stood bare in the wagon. The boy pinned against the wall. His hands wrapped around his neck. And yet, Medraut was grinning.

“It would be a right shame if the caliph found me dead in my own quarters.” The boy smiled a serpent smile. “Isn’t that right, Vandal Savage?”

Vandal didn’t know what he had said at first. Then it began to sink in.

“I had my suspicions when I first met you. I’ve heard plenty of stories and your’s were always my favorite. When you ran off in the middle of the night you sold yourself out.” The grip on Medraut’s neck loosened and the boy dropped onto his bed. “I must say, you’ve gotten yourself in a corner. I love the concept, a great one, but you got yourself caught. As I see it you have two options: Kill me, let the caliph find you and run the risk of dealing with the warriors he keeps company, or you bow.”

Vandal stood over the boy. That self-satisfied grin was still on his face. Medraut looked at him like a son bring home his first kill on a hunt. In this wagon he was trapped. If he killed the boy now, he’d have to run down the mountains. Ystin still had that pegasus. There were few options and none he liked. Here he stood powerless against a child. He wished he could burn the whole caravan down. But for now, he had no choice. He felt himself compelled to serve. His knee bent. “I am at your service, Prince Medraut.”


	32. Demons and Deductions

A crowd had gathered around the charred remains of the house that once stood on this filthy street. They watched as the workers carried up the blackened wood out of the pit that had once been a basement. Axes chopped at beams that hadn’t been completely burned. The labors grunted and groaned as they carried up the stones which had formed the first floor walls. Many of the commoners were surprised by the amount of soldiers. They formed a perimeter around the site. No one but city certified workers would pass them.

The man over watching the excavation was Walter DeGray, a well liked captain. He was almost entirely bald, save for the faintest flakes on the sides. His moustache was long and pointed. Some of the other officers had made jokes how his hair had begun to match his name. A woman approached him from out of the crowd. “Ma'am as I’ve said before, no one’s allowed past. Go about your business.”

“As it turns out, this is my business,” said the woman. She produced a letter from under her robes. She held it up to him. “I am the sorceress Madam Xanadu, I’ve been given order by the Princesses Alba and Sarum to observe these proceedings and examine for any oddities that would fall under my field.”

DeGray read the latter in full. At the bottom were both princesses’ names along with their seals. He had heard about this woman. She carried with her a strange aura. Even dressed like a commoner she was beautiful. “Very well then, madam. I’d suggest you wait until we’ve cleared this up for you down there. It’s a mess.”

“Thank you, Captain but I can handle myself well enough,” said Xanadu. She made her way to a ladder as a worker was coming up. “Make way,” she demanded as she went down. The second she had seen this ruin, Xanadu knew something was wrong. The whole place felt like needles pricking at her skin. It was a warm day but she suddenly felt cold. The basement floor and walls were all made of stone and had been unscathed. For a part of the city that stunk worse than a tannery built atop a barnyard atop a slaughterhouse, this building was well made. Up in the sky was a faint red circle. Likely what was left of the blood circle the Horsewoman had talked about. It was a red scar over her head. Whatever it was she didn’t like it. With the watching eyes of the captain. She looked away, but she could sense it.

There was little to see here without putting up a sign. She climbed back up out of the basement. There were carts the workers were piling up with rubble. She examined the remains of beams and floorboards. Grabbing hold of a plank, it crumbled to bits. Her hand was no filthy. She wiped it off on her ragged robes. These clothes often disgusted her but they had some advantages. Nothing of the building’s materials seemed to have any magic residing in them. All her senses were pulled back to the site of the house. If she wanted to get anything useful, she’d have to come back later. Xanadu walked up to DeGray again. “Thank you captain, I think I’ve seen enough. It’s a right waste of my talents.” Sarum knew little of the guard captains, but DeGray was a man Alba had great faith in. Hopefully a causal line like that would sprout a lie. She pressed her way through the on lookers and made her way down the street.

She went on for half a mile before turning off into an alleyway. She continued between the buildings, straddling the small river of brown putrid water. She come out onto another street. She made her way back towards the excavation for a few hundred paces before turning off the road again. The alleys formed a cross road, she sat behind the corner, listening for footsteps. She waited for five minutes before moving again. She kept walking down the crevice between buildings.

She had considered throwing up an illusion to appear as someone else, but any small spell would be easily seen by prying eyes and a grand one would be too costly. Instead she walked down the alley way, keeping watch for guards. She saw none. She walked out and kept making her way back. Amongst the stinking traffic, she spotted a soldier heading her way. He walked with no discernable purpose. He was likely not looking for her, all the same. A few paces after she passed him she ducked back into the alley ways. Xanadu waited again. Then she heard footsteps. They were heavy and load. The person was certainly flat footed. 

Xanadu spoke and by a snap of her fingers, a circle of air became a mirror. It floated at eye level. With a flick, she let it slowly wade out to see who was coming. The mirror was small, but it was enough. The person making their way was nothing but a drunkard carrying a leather flask. Xanadu snapped her fingers. The mirror disappeared before it was spotted and she made her way onwards.

Finally she made it back to where the soldiers were lining the destroyed house. The crowd had only somewhat dissipated. Staying in the alley, approached a backdoor to an inn that faced where the building had once been.

Instantly the door flew open. “Thank god you’re here,” said Jason, “What took you so long?”

“I had to sell the captain my story and make sure I wasn’t followed,” she snapped before pushing him out of the way. She held out the letter she’d shown to DeGray. “I need to write some things down for later.” The ink on the parchment had long since vanished. the only thing that remained was Princess Sarum’s seal and signature. Xanadu could never understand any anyone would except letters from a sorceress. She and Jason stood in a small stockroom, the door out led to the kitchen. Judging by the odor in this place Xanadu would let herself go hungry tonight. Jason started talking again but she cut him off and pointed up stairs.

They made their way out of the stockroom with little suspicion. The cook hadn’t started making whatever he could of the materials in that room. Jason led her up to the room he’d gotten for the night. Like the rest of this district, calling depressing would be a compliment. The bed as small and lumpy, the only window wouldn’t open, and bugs crawled about the floor unafraid. The sad part was that Xanadu had slept in worse, her castle bedroom had spoiled her.

She sat herself down on the bed before talking, “Now Jason, what were you saying?”

“I don’t like this, going behind Alba’s back and all. Etrigan will only make things worse.”

“Well,” said Xanadu, “I am afraid we don’t have much choice. I looked over the site. Whatever you and the Horsewoman found, it’s really nasty. That blood circle you found is still there, hoving where the second story was. Also there was something done in the basement, I’m not quite sure what. And if I can’t figure it out, I’m certain Etrigan will be familiar with what hellish magic is across the street.”

Jason looked down at the floor and ran his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps there’s another way to-”

“Unless you’ve gained an expert’s knowledge of demonic magic within the last day, I don’t give a damn what alternatives there are. You will summon Etrigan and that’s final.” With that Xanadu cast a minor spell on Jason and tried to find a comfortable spot on the bed. Jason tried to speak but his voice had left him.

Several hours later, Xanadu woke. Jason lay beside looking miserable. She decided to let him sleep a little bit more. Looking outside, it was well in the evening. The moon hung high in the sky. Xanadu walked out of the room. The hallway was so slender, she could barely fit. She made her way to the stairs while walking a somewhat sideways. The floor rolled under her feet. The made her way down the crooked stairs and sat down in the empty tavern. The candles had long burned out. The only light was cast from outside. She looked out the front window over at the abandoned pit across the street. Even from here Xanadu could sense evil magic at work. She heard someone. Xanadu spun around with her eyes fixed on the dark corner in the back of the inn. It was only a sleeping old man. He was snoring very loud. A glob of mucus hung from his nose and was pulled in and out with his breathing. The entire city of Alba Sarum was likely fast asleep by now. It was time to act. Back in the room, Xanadu jabbed the sleeping Jason’s ribs. He nearly kicked her on instinct. “Come on,” said she said, “Tis the witching hour. Let’s do our work”

The remnants of the house had all been carried off. She’d have no use for them anyway. Jason looked around the basement with wide eyes. He could sense the evil as well. All the more fun. Xanadu withdrew a piece of chalk from her robe. She made a circle first, basic enough. She crossed it several times, inscribed the edge with words reserved for the fey, and finished off with two inlaid hexagons. Typically for such a spell, Xanadu would first cast one of concealment. The great irony of this is said illusions were typically the most flashy and loud ones she knew. “Alright,” said Xanadu, “Let’s cut you open and see the good bits.”

At her words, never spoken by mortals, the ground cracked. The air warped and bent. The corners of the basement tied themselves in knots. In her eyes, Jason was scattered across seventeen plains. Her fingers reached deep down into the stone floor. She reached out for what magic lay there. She felt strings of power at her tips and crackling up her veins. The souls of who no longer lived here strode backwards around the absent floors and up and down the missing floors. Souls appeared on the second floor and were brought out of the house kicking and screaming. Her mind roasted and sizzled. She grabbed hold of what had lurked within these walls. She screamed as she let go.

Xanadu collapsed upon the basement floor.  The chalk circle had turned to smoke. Jason was over her in an instant. Time rushed back to the here and now. Jason was speaking to her. He pointed to her hands. She held them up. They were burned. Her flesh was sizzling cracked porcelain. She laid her head in his lap. “I’ve gotten sloppy,” she said. She wished to dunk her head in a bucket of ice cold water. Just to dull the pain for a moment. “Your turn now. Get him up here.”

Jason sighed and spoke the words. Flames burst from the ground he stood upon. Etrigan, adorned in hellish armor rose from Jason’s spot. “About damn time,” he said, “I’ve been getting bored.Now who have you aggravated this-” 

Xanadu slapped a hand over his mouth, “Keep quiet you bafoon, we’re not to draw attention to ourselves.” Her hand was up, prepared to cast another spell of silence. His breath of sulfur stung her burnt hands.

Etrigan hushed and took a look at his surroundings. He pulled Xanadu’s hand off his face. “Well it seems I’m not here to kill something,” he said in a hushed voice, “That’s a change, also a disappointment.” Then he cracked a smile. “Then I suppose you seek me for other reasons.” His clawed hand made its way around her waist.

“Keep yourself together, Etrigan, this is serious,” said Xanadu.

“Hmm, I guess so,” said Etrigan, “This pit isn’t the best venue anyway.” He gently brushed her hair with his monstrous hand. “Let’s find us a proper place, do you remember that one night in the stable?” Suddenly his fang rowed leer dissipated. “My word, Xan, what did you do to yourself?” Etrigan grabbed hold of her hands, cradling them in his own. “What unworthy vermin has scorched you? Tell me! I shall make them feast on their own insides!” Smoke rose from his shoulders and his eyes burned bright white.

“This is my own doing,” said Xanadu, “and the reason you are here.” She yanked her hands away. “A few days ago, Jason and the Horsewoman were drawn to this house where they saw a wizard performing some sort of demonic sacrifice, a circle written in pigs’ blood. They encountered the enchanters but they destroyed the entire house.”

“Most impressive,” Etrigan commented.

“We are to keep these events secret from Princess Alba. She’s not to learn of what magic rites were performed here. And that’s where you come in. ‘ Xanadu pointed up at the red circle hanging in the sky.

“I see,” said Etrigan. He did not turn to look. “You send me away whilst your in the good company of her majesties but the second you need arcane assistance, now I’m needed.” He held her waist again. “It’s been so long Xan, what if I’m maybe not up to it?”

Xanadu smirked at him. She leaned against the demon. “Oh Etrigan?” she said. “Do you remember Poland?” Her finger began to run little circles on his armored chest.

Etrigan smiled, “Never forgot it my sweet. It was the dead of winter. The fireplace was long dead yet the house roared like a furnace. You made sound I didn’t think you could make.”

Her finger was being drawn further and further down. “Do this, for me? And I promise I’ll sing next time.”

“Damn you woman,” said Etrigan, “I can ever say no to such a lady.” Her supple backside was tight in his grip. “Watch me, as  I do what I do best.” Letting her go, Etrigan made his way to the spot the red fading circle stood directly above. The demon scratched his great chin. “Hmm, interesting.” He held his hands out to the marking and rhymed, “Forces dark, deceptive and arcane / What here is written in beast flesh slain? / Reveal its secrets unto me / Show me darkness that I might see!” 

Fire ruptured from his fingertips. The blood circle began to melt, its remains sloping down towards Etrigan. Xanadu felt the dark presence in the basement surge and warp. She felt hot iron spikes shot through her hands. The traces of magic bleed into the demon’s hands. He swallowed it all up. Until it was no more. Then he let go with a roar. He nearly collapsed. Xanadu ran to him as he gathered himself.

“I am fine, woman,” he said. Lights were dancing in his eyes. “Damn if that is not strong.” He rubbed his temples, “By Lucifer.”

“What did you see?” demanded Xanadu.

“Something not of Hell magic certainly,” replied Etrigan, “Something older.”

“Older?” said Xanadu in surprise.

“Aye,” said the demon, “Something older than humans themselves. Something which drives not just human lives, but all lives. It’s something old and arcane. Very arcane. The sort of thing little hellions are told at night.” Then he smiled, “This is going to be fun.”

Xanadu started“But what about-”

“Hell if I know, Xanadu, but next time invite me on one of these wizard hunts. I could use a few new ones for my collection. Now” He grabbed a hold of her, “There’s that promise you made.”

Xanadu smiled up at him. She could feel his excitement. “Every well,” she said. The two of them cast up spells of illusion. No one outside could see or hear them now. “I’ll sing you my Polish songs.”


	33. What the Bones Read

For the last few days, Hadjia had traveled across Themiscyra several times. She had met with Derinoe plenty times. It was astounding what that woman knew. She made her way through New Athens, greeting the familiar faces. She held in her mouth, a loaf of bread from a generous baker she wish she could recall the name of. Hadjia was lucky to be without guards. Obviously there was not much need for them. But she felt a bit afraid as she searched the streets. For a few days she’d had strange dreams. They’d begun with meeting Hazm in a forest and persisted. None had been more vivid than her first nightmare. However the hooded woman loomed in her dreams. She would appear out of nowhere. She’d be standing there on the horizon, always watching her. Before Hadjia could call out, she’d vanish. Hadjia would have to be a right fool to believe such things were of magic. Her father would have said so. Hazm would probably say they only had some meaning. Nonetheless, she had learned there was some truth to those who dabbed in these arts. Even in Al Wadi, there were mystics and fortune tellers, much to her father’s disliking. Hadjia had found they were an interesting lot. Though irrational, they had some fruits of truth to their words. In a place like Themyscira, there were likely people of similar paths. She’d heard of a talented oracle called Xeisbe and that she dwelled within this district. 

Hadjia pondered what use of fortune teller was to women who’d been living forever, but concluded they were just like anyone else after all. Hadjia dressed herself in more common clothes. Dressing as an Amazon would seem pointless. She lacked both the size and the build. Everyone on the island knew everyone else by name anyway. There was little use. After being directed by a smith whose shop was flooded over with all sorts of metal works, she arrived at a small shop hanging of the corner in an alley way. The sign was difficult to read, her old Greek was not what Hadjia desired it to be, but she could discern as much as “Prophecies and Readings.” That much was clear. Hoping that her father would forgive her, she walked in.

The shop was small. Barely large enough to fit a pair of horses. There was no furniture save for two pillows on the floor and a small fire crackling in the center. The room stank heavily of incense, so many overpowering scents. All sorts of chicken and pig bones hung from the ceiling on strings. A curtain hung in the back of the room. It fluttered as someone moved behind it. “Hello sister.” The curtain kicked back. This must have been Xeisbe. She was dressed like any normal Amazon. Her hair was silken, impossibly so. She had the muscular physique typical of the Amazons. Yet her eyes seem peeled over. They were white, clouded. Those eyes were empty yet filled to the brim. “I’ve been waiting for you, unsurprisingly.”

Xeisbe stood and approached Hadjia. She held her head, examining the tiny details of her face. “You are the one from Man’s world. I’ve always wondered what it was like. I get a bit bored listening to my sisters. It’s always about lovers and such. When you’ve got eternity to live, I suppose not much else would bother you. But you, you seem full of bothers.” She smiled. “I’m excited.” She motioned for Hadjia to open her mouth, the princess did so. This wasn’t the strangest mystic she’d me. “Hmm,” said Xeisbe, “Interesting, very interesting.”

“What?” asked Hadjia.

“You take exceptionally good care of your teeth. I’m jealous. We can’t all have such nice things.” She shut Hadjia’s mouth shut. “So,” she said, making her way to the pillow behind the fire. “What seems to be wrong my dear? I mean you bothered figuring out where I live. I assume you’ve got something to tell.”

“Well,” said Hadjia, “I’ve been having dreams.”

“We all do,” said Xeisbe, uninterested.

“The first one I had was a few days ago. It was by far the most vivid. Now I’ve been having them every other night, it’s difficult to discuss them, they fade away.”

“Yes, well that’s to be expected,” Xeisbe said, “Now let’s get down to work. You want me to dispel your dreams?”

“No,” said Hadjia. She blushed. Her father would call her ridiculous. “I want you to read them.”

“Well,” replied Xeisbe, “That’s going to be a bit more costly. The sons of Hypnos aren’t always so simple in his ways.”

“I am more than willing to pay,” said Hadjia. She handed out her sailor’s wages. Xeisbe’s empty eyes glimmered.

“Hmm,” she said, “This should do, come on now please.” She motioned to the pillow on the floor.

As Hadjia took her seat, Xeisbe withdrew knuckle bones from a pouch upon the ground. She picked up a log lying against the wall and dropped it on the coals. The fire jumped up. Hadjia did in turn too. Xeisbe smiled at the girl. “Come now sister, don’t be afraid of a little flame.”

“I’m not,” affirmed Hadjia. “But last time I checked, I don’t recall oracles using knuckle bones to divine the will of the Gods.”

“I pick up all sorts of methods. The Gods tell me many things, outsider. I don’t always understand them in full, but I get results. Now talk when I ask you too.” She threw the bones into the fire. She sat there gazing into the flames. She said nothing. The licking reflections danced on her eyes. With a crack, a knuckle lept out from the coals. Xeisbe picked up the sizzling bone with her bare hands. “Interesting,” she said, “You are a curious one. But you are hindering your mind. Your thoughts are cramped with no room to breathe. Don’t focus on your dreams, let them come and go. Making sense of dreaming makes things worse.” Another bone leapt from the fire. “Ah ha,” she said, running her hand over the cracks. “Good, good, good. Very good. I see what haunts your nights. And yet, these are not your dreams.” The fire snapped. A third bone jumped out at Hadjia this time. Xeisbe smiled. “Yes, yes, but you. Keep calm, don’t fear your fate.” She held the bone up high above her head.”These dreams, they are not your own! Not all of them. They are tethered. You share them.”

“Share them how is that-”

“You came here to me, your coin proves you know there are greater forces in this world than your father’s science,” she snapped, “Now let me work.” She continued. “This dream, the catalyst for your tempered nights, it was shared. Your brother was there, not just in your mind, but his as well. Blood can sometimes do that, but this is stronger. Your bond stretches far, all the way to Iberia. Either you are a gifted mage, which I would laugh at as I pluck out my eyes, or something ties you two together. Why? I cannot say. But this connection how have is strong. It reaches far back through time, older than your creed, mine too.”

“What does that mean?” said Hadjia.

“Give me a moment,” Xeisbe snapped. “Let’s see here now...yes...yes. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but...” The oracle was silent. She stared at the last bone silent, her fingers tracing the cracks. “Oh my...oh dear child…” She looked up from her bones. “Weeks ago the stars shifted. Something grabbed the cosmos by the tender bits and gave a good twist. The astral plane has been jumbled up, children wake up with a mage’s intellect, all sorts of catastrophes. And here you are. You and your brother are in the center of the storm. Like the eye of a cyclone, you may think you are untouched, but move out of line and you shall be swept up in the tempest. The hooded woman appears in your dreams. She is old and deadly. She bares arcane knowledge upon which the world spins. She will come, and so will the storm in her wake. I would tell you to run, outsider, but it is of no use. The winds are howling all around you and they shall close in soon.”

“What do you suggest I do?” asked Hadjia.

“Prepare, outsider, prepare for the war to come.”

 

“What about this door?” said Jason.

Xanadu pressed her palm to the wood and nodded. Ever since she’d arrived, Xanadu could feel a presence in the castle of Alba Sarum. She recalled it when she was here thirty years ago, but now it was stronger. With the burnt house being a dead end, she’d been sniffing out any magical presence in the city all while avoiding the watchful eyes of Princess Alba and the city guards.. For whatever reason, Alba Sarum had an appallingly high population of sorcerers and magicians. Other kingdoms despised yet feared it for that reason and with good cause. Xanadu had never seen magic wielding calvary before. Not only were they strong, but back at the battle of Little Spring they’d turned the tide and left the Questing Queen’s horde in shambles. Camelot, her Camelot, once had a similar aura as the one in Alba Sarum, but something was not right. The smell of it was odd, like some mystery ingredient. She’d followed the aura down into the depth of Alba Sarum. Now she and Jason stood in a forgotten barren cellar. The only thing here was a single door. It was rotted away and hung on crooked hinges. Xanadu could feel the aura was strong beyond the door and told Jason to open it.

Darkness is all that met her. It was pitch black. Only the faintest far off dripping of water proved that there were walls beyond this abyss. Xanadu held out her fingers. With a sign, sparks leaked from under her nails, collating into a bright yellow ball.  Its rays revealed a staircase, leading down into the bowels of the Earth. She turned to Jason. “Well? Are you coming?”

Jason gulped before plucking a torch from its sconce. “Forgive me if I’m hesitant following magical leads. It hasn’t faired me well as of late. Or the person who led. You do realize if something goes wrong, no one will come for us.”

Xanadu rolled her eyes. “Just come on already,” and she made her way down into the darkness.

With Jason behind her, she made her way down the pitch black staircase. The door from which they had come was nothing but a glint of light the size of a coin. Then the stairs began to twist. They made their way this way and that, turning around, snaking to and fro, but always going down. Whoever had made this tunnel must have been a truly talented sorcerer, if it had been a person. The place stunk of mold, it had grown everywhere. The earth down her was wet and overgrown. Worms wriggled in between gaps in mortar. All sorts of crawling things neither of them had ever seen creeped their way across the stairs.

Then Xanadu hit her foot. She screamed in pain as she went head first down the stairs. She rolled, sliding down the wet brick. Jason cried out to her. Finally she caught herself and stopped. Her stomach, legs, arms, and face all hurt. Horrid grime now inhabited her hair. She rightfully cursed, “Damn, damn, damn.” She groaned.

Jason was there “Are you alright Xan?”

“There’ve been better days,” she replied. Her head was ringing. “Damn, what the hell was that?” Her words echoed up and down the stairway. She marched back up to where she’d fallen and cast her light upon it. “Well will you look at that?”

Shining in the dimming light, a crystal pierced in through the floor, stopping short just at the wall. It shined a beautiful purple as it caught Xanadu’s light and scattered it up and down the stairway.

“It’s amethyst,” said Jason. “A big one at that.”

“What the hell is it doing in the middle of this stairway?” asked Xanadu.

“Not a clue.”

“Well,” said Xanadu, “Then let’s find out.” Still aching, she turned about and kept on down the stairs. The twisted steps kept crawling on down. They made their way in silence until finally the darkness stopped.

The hallway ahead was a light in a violet radiance, the color of the amethyst. It pulsated, illuminating the way. “Interesting,” said Xanadu. She kept her sphere of light close by. She sensed something wild at work here. Not just magic, but raw magic. It pulled on her, like the lapping of the ocean. “Very interesting.”

With Jason in tow, she walked into the light. The hallway opened up to a great cavern. The stairs wrapped the outside, spiralling down. Xanadu could not see the bottom. She was transfixed on what was before her. In the center of the great chasm was a crystal, clearly an amethyst. It was as wide as a fortress. The base sunk deep down, beyond her vision. Her neck craned to see the summit. Almost out of sight, the gargantuan crystal peaked.

Jason was gawking empty eyed at the glowing obelisk. “What in God’s name is that?”

“I have no idea,” said Xanadu, “But I’m excited. Whatever this monstrosity is, it’s insanely powerful. The air is thick with magic, can’t you feel it?” Jason nodded. “No wonder there are so many talented wizards in this city if they sleep with this under their streets. Hmmm.” All the magic was soothing. She let it flow through her very being. “No wonder at all.”

“So how did this thing get here?” asked Jason, “I doubt even Merlin could move it.”

“You’re right,” said Xanadu, “If I were to guess it must have been laying here this whole time.”

“Whatever it is.”

“Hmmm, I think I recall one of my sisters speaking of something like this,” Xanadu said, “Something of gemstones born with great magic. Not many exist on our world.”

“I suppose they all went together to make this thing,” said Jason, “But if it’s so powerful, why does its abilities seem dormant. I’d imagine you’d have noticed this from miles away.”

“Well how am I supposed to know?” said Xanadu, “I’m the second greatest sorcerer of this or any era and I don’t know a damned thing about this. I doubt Merlin does. Even if he did, he’s passed the threshold where wizards stop being useful and just cryptic about everything. he’d offer no help.” She turned to Jason, “I need the help of Etrigan.”

The scribe winced.

  
  


“Long time no see Claudia,” said Jason. Then he realized his wording, “Oh dear! I am sorry for my word-”

“That is alright Jason,” said Claudia. Her every bleeding sockets were empty save for the metal rod which pierced them. “My all accounts I can see. What brings you back to Hell so early?”

“Xanadu is consulting with Etrigan over arcane deals, or at least she tells me. And so, I come back to such pleasant hospitality.” He was quiet as the victims of Hell screamed around him. “No place like home, none. I can’t imagine why I’d ever leave. So, what’s new with you? Etrigan treating you well?”

“The demon has spoken to me more often now. He has a dinner to attend.”

“I dinner?’ asked Jason. He took a seat upon the back of a warrior who was being fed his own children. “Tell me more.”

“House Fy’gpath is holding a miraculous ceremony. I believe it’s for the initiation of a new demon. Forget his name, it’s unpronounceable anyway. For some reason, Etrigan is being invited.”

“Does he plan to attend?”

“It would seem so,” said Claudia. “He’s rarely found hospitality in Hell. Most of the time he is the laughingstock of demons because of you.”

Jason laughed, “Oh, poor Etrigan! Does he feel left out? Damn that creature to the lowest pit! Would his heart break of loneliness without my torment to keep him warm?”

“Are you alright, Jason?”

“Oh I am fine! Spectacular! Never been better! The love of my life is only up there in the mortal realm having her womanhood plowed by Etrigan’s yellow thorned member!” he said, “I also might be drinking, but that is beside the point.”

“How long have you been tethered to him?”

“Oh how should I know? You’ve been here longer and know him better, you tell me. You want an answer? Too long, that’s how.” Then Jason began crying. He fell off the man devouring his own kin and started laughing. He howled so loud, all the circles of Hell could hear him.

“What is wrong, Jason?” Claudia asked.

“Oh, nothing,” said Jason, “Absolutely nothing. It’s just I dreamed about this day. It’s close enough to touch. Today is wonderful! and I’m in Hell!”

“Excuse me?” The two humans looked up. Before them stood a well dressed demon. His many rows of teeth were pure white. His wings decked in fine silk. His clothes fashionable and adored if many severed hands. I am looking for Etrigan the Demon, I bring news from House Fy’gpath.”

“The great yellow abomination is absent at this moment,” hiccuped Jason, “I shall see he hears this news.”


	34. The Farmer Part 1

Outside the walls of Alba Sarum, a new day had begun. Farmers had been working the fields since before dawn. The royal wedding would not be royal without an abundant feast.  Young children played in the sun and the birds sang in chorus. Down a dirt path, far away from the city walls. Abrahil Chlodgard ran for his life.

He ran, all out of breath. His clothes were filthy and covered with dirt. He had barely slept. What few dreams he had were the too terrible to describe, full of demons and sorcerers. He had never experience such terror in all his life. What he had seen was never meant for this Earth. He ran now like the forces of Hell were behind him, his home just over the hill. By all that was holy, just let him see his family one last time. His small home up ahead, he crashed through the door. His wife had just laid down breakfast. Gaus, Clesa, and Martinga were all seated. Abrahil slammed his hands on the table. He rest much of his heavy mass upon it. He stared down at the table where three bowls of gruel were laid out.

“Are you alright Papa?” asked Maringa.

“I’m...I’m fine sweet,” he said. His head was ringing like church bells. “I just, I just.” Abrahil collapsed onto the nearest chair. The little thing of wood creaked under him. What little hair he had atop his head was all a mess. He’d lost his hat miles back. He was dripping with cold sweat and his clothes stank worse than he could imagine. 

Framberta looked at him with shock. “Eat up, children,” she instructed. The young things soon turned back to their breakfast. Fram filled a cup with water and held it out to her husband, still collapsed and panting. He drank the whole thing in a heartbeat and continued huffing. He was not the man he’d once been. The adults stood at opposite ends of the room in silence as their children ate. When they’d finally had their full. Gaus, Clesa, and Martinga all rose and headed outside.

“Is Papa alright, Mama?” asked Martinga.

“He’s fine, don’t go worrying yourself,” she replied and closed the door behind her. It was then just the two of them in the house. “Where the hell have you been?” shouted Fram. Her voice tired and stretched.

Abrahil sat in his chair, panting some more. He motioned for another cup of water. Fram supplied him. After another drink, he took his time before answering. “Me and some of the other lads, we’ve been working a bit of moonlight work, just a little extra coin in our pockets. What happened was….I got stuck back at the worksite, overnight. I didn’t mean to, but...it was unavoidable.”

Fram looked at him with discerning eyes. She knew he was lying,but that wasn’t what was important. “Is it against the law?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “It wouldn’t surprise me.” Finally his nerves found him. “I have to go. Right now.” Before Fram could argue he was out the door at full speed. He cut his way through fields until he stopped at a small pub hanging off the side of the road. He’d gone here plenty of times with his friends after a long day’s work. The place was all but deserted, a single bartender wiped down the warped tables. “I’m looking for Ragenard” he said. Without looking up, the man pointed to the back.

There sat Ragenard. He was a tall man with a slim build. He likely never had a full week of solid labor. His home was in the city, but he ran the place and often hung around it. His clothes were clean and he wore a bright blue cap on his head. “About damn time you got here,” he said.

“Ragenard!” shouted Abrahil. He knocked tables aside to reach the man’s corner. “Something awful’s happened with the tunnel!”

“I know, I just got word of it. Whole place was burned to the ground. Just our luck.”

“I got the supplies and took them through the tunnel, like normal. I knocked the right amount of times but no one answered.”

“I’d be surprised if someone did.” Ragenard was occupied picking his teeth. “We need to set you up with a new job.”

“Listen to me!” Abrahil smashed his fist on the table. “After I knocked, I realized that the door didn’t have the barrels on top of it. So I opened up the door and there I saw...I saw…”

Ragenard had finally given Abrahil his attention. “Well? What?”

Abrahil gulped. “A demon. A horrid yellow demon was there in what left of that house. He was there with a woman….a witch. They were there screwing in the chard basement of the house.”

Ragenard let loose a howl. He was all smiled. “Oh Abrahil, oh….That is rich. Damned if you're not imaginative. You get drunk again? By God, a demon. Ha!”

“I'm serious!” Abrahil defended, “I saw the two of them there in what was left of that house. I swear upon my life and my children’s!”

Ragenard stood. He looked the farmer straight in the eye. “Listen Abrahil,” he said. “You have been a true hand. You work hard, you feed your family, you do orders without question. No one could ask for anything more. But you’ve got to remember, you, me, we’re only small little ants in this world helping to spin the wheel. Your concerns are raising babes and watching the seasons, not demons and witches. The house burned down by accident. I’m certain you mind was only playing tricks on you. Take the day off. Rest. I’ll reach you again in due time for some more supplies. For now, go home.”

Abrahil had finally caught his breath. He held his head low. It had been a long month. He’d been worrying himself for days about the crops. “Alright,” he admitted, “you’re right. I’m sorry Ragenard. My head’s just been overstuff with fears.”

Ragenard smiled. “Good,” he said, patting Abrahil’s back, “Good. Get yourself home and rest. There’s no reason to be concerned.”

Abrahil gave a laugh at his own foolishness. “Thank you Ragenard.” He turned around and left the pub. Standing outside was a single mule. It always hung around the pub. He gazed into the creatures empty eyes and smiled. “Stubborn as a mule,” he said, and made his way back home.

 

Sarah sat in a courtyard within sight of the infirmary. The worst of her injuries had been lifted, much to the surprise of everyone, even Xanadu. She’d never recalled any of her spells reviving someone this quickly. Still, no one thought it best for the Horsewoman to head out just yet. She was to spend the next few days until she was fully healed. 

Brickwedge was nearby the entire time. He’d tried to chime in while Sarah was bedridden, but only got scattered images. He made himself at home in the courtyard, not letting her out of his sight.

She had requested books from the library to pass the time, yet she had barely read anything. Her mind was aflame, jumping across the city of Alba Sarum. Her eyes were those of every steed she could find. She held a book to her face as she scoured the entire city. Yet still there was something she was missing.

“You have a visitor,” Brickwedge told her.

The Horsewoman looked up. Before her stood a man, adored in several layers of bright robes. He carried a cane with a curved end. A great metal cross hung from his neck. He was long in years. The hair on his top was all gone and his well kept beard had turned snow white. Obviously he was a clergy, though the names and positions of such men was alien to her. “Greetings, child,” he said, “might I sit with you?”

The Horsewoman put down the book whose title she had lost. “Certainly not, by all means.”

The man smiled. “Thank you.” Slowly he made his way across the courtyard and lowered himself to the stone seat the Horsewoman had taken like one lowers a child. He turned to her, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Horsewoman. I’ve heard many a great things about you and your...questionable compatriots.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said the Horsewoman, “Who are you exactly?”

The old clergy man looked shocked. “Oh dear! Please forgive my rudeness! I meant no offense! I am Bishop Larvus. I see to the Christian matters within Alba Sarum.”

“Really now?” asked the Horsewoman, “I’m surprised a man of your standing would serve here. Given who rules this city.”

Larvus chuckled, “Well yes. There is that matter that’s made me unpopular among my less informed brothers of the cloth. To be perfectly honest I was excommunicated decades ago. Hardly a surprise. I think I’m a little better or it. The church is sadly reigned by people with their own agendas.” The Bishop paused. “It is a tragedy.”

The Horsewoman nodded. “Certainly,” she said.

“I’d like to imagine their faces when they hear the princesses were wedded in my church with, of all things, the cup of Christ to commemorate the affair.” Larvus chuckled. “Oh I would pay a fortune to see their faces. But enough of me. I’m glad to see that you are healing so well. It’s beyond compare, truly. Far better than what my hand can do.”

The Horsewoman made a face. “You can heal people?”

“In a world of magic and monsters, it is the powers we least suspect that have the biggest hold.” Larvus held out his hand.

The Horsewoman gave him her arm, wrapped in bandages. Undoing the linen, Larvus winced at the ugly black bruise that had formed on her flesh. Cupping his hand over the spot, Larvus began chanting to himself. His voice was beautiful, golden as sunlight. The heavy metal cross on his neck tingled. By his words, the bruise on her arm faded. The pain dulled. The bishop stopped chanting. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”

“That’s...fine,” said the Horsewoman. the bruise was still there but was much smaller.

“I’m afraid it’s temporary,” said Larvus, “Much of my teaching didn’t exactly encourage ‘sorcery.’ Even with help from some resourceful mages, that’s all I can muster.”

“I can see why the church isn’t found of you,” said Horsewoman.

“The Vatican’s true callings are wealth and power. They couldn’t care less about me. It’s the men of local churches that are a nuancance. A man once call me blasphemous, only our Lord has the right to heal. I don’t believe so. It’s my duty to ease suffering whenever possible. To look away is what real evil is.”

The Horsewoman nodded. “I’m glad we could talk, Bishop Larvus.”

“The same, Horsewoman,” he replied.

“Sarah, you can call me Sarah.”

Larvus smiled. “That’s quite the horse you’ve got there. I would have imagined someone with your name sake would have something akin to a stallion. Why do you pick a steed with squat little legs?”

Brickwedge reared his head. “What did he say?” he asked the Horsewoman.

“Calm down,” she thought to her horse. “This is Brickwedge. He’s a fine companion. Most stallions, especially thoroughbreds are arrogant. They never shut up and never obey. I couldn’t stand one. I found Brickwedge here at a mill. He’s proud, sure, but brave, kind, and has a kind heart.”

Brickwedge neighed, “Why couldn’t you have said that back to those mares?”

“Though he’s easily distracted.”

“Hmph,” said Larvus. He walked over to Brickwedge and stroke his mane. “He certainly seems like a sturdy one. Forgive me, but did you say you talk to them? The horses?”

“Yes, I did,” replied Sarah. “Could ever since I was born. Never knew why. I don’t really care. It’s a gift. When I find a horse like Brickwedge here, I also bond with them. It’s difficult to explain, but It’s like our souls are tied together. It also stops me from aging.”

Larvus looked at her in bafflement. “Sarah, you are one bizarre person I must say. How long have you being doing this?”

“I’ve forgotten. I raised in the hills of Germany. I barely knew anything about this world. My parents died in a stampede. I lived on my own for a while. I’d spent many years living in forests and riding across the plains. I never was much one for cities. I think the first time I looked at a calendar, it was almost sixty years ago.”

“Sixty?” asked Larvus, “By God you are blessed, Sarah. If I were a few decades younger, I’d have been head over heels. Of course I was a very different man, back then.”

Sarah crossed her arms, “Aren’t holymen supposed to cleanse themselves of lust?”

“There are plenty who do, it doesn’t make them better holymen,” replied Larvus.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Sarah.

“I still don’t like him,” said Brickwedge, “He called me squat.”

“If I had gotten an ass, I wonder if he’d been much different,” she snapped back. “Well, Bishop, I’m afraid I must be off.” The Horsewoman hobbled over to her steed. With a great huff, she flung herself into the saddle. “I have business to attend to.”

“Off?” said Larvus, “But you’re still healing. You could use a few more days of rest.” 

“I know, but this may be quite important. I’ll see you around, Bishop.” With a kick to Brickwedge’s sides, Sarah rode off, dashing out the courtyard and towards the gates. “Make way!” she shouted.

“I never thought you’d be one for older men, Sarah,” said her horse.

“Brickwedge,” she replied, “You haven’t been bound to me that long. He’s a pleasant fellow, but you clearly don’t know me. Now hush up, we’re going outside the city. I think there’s someone who might know a thing or two about what’s going on.”


	35. The Farmer Part 2

The people made way as Sarah and Brickwedge thundered down the streets. Children were swept off their feet by caring mothers and plenty of people shouted at them but neither cared. Sarah glided through the crowds at full speed, cutting a path straight through. She had the advantage of equestrian eyes all around to avoid the roads too thick with traffic and watch for anyone who might wander into her way. She’d taken several excursions outside the walls to clear her head, but this time she rode with a mission.

Somewhere beyond the walls, a portly farmer had caught her eye. Something about him concerned her. She had nothing else to do all day. Though her injuries were still sore and her face puft, she was blissful. With Brickwedge was were she felt the most alive and not even a few cuts and bruises could ruin that. 

Once or twice, she turned her head to the shouts of a guard but the second they saw the red-haired rider they ceased. The Princesses had given her freedom to ride as she pleased. She was not some immature racer. She was the Horsewoman. With a great new saddle that’s lovely scent still lingered, she charged down the streets, full thunder.

“Make way! Make way!” she shouted. She had been bedridden for far too long. Leaping over a cabbage cart, she veered tighter than a coin. Many people stared gawking. Brickwedge might have seemed an ordinary mill horse, but tied to Sarah, he was greater than the finest stallion. He said nothing, but Sarah knew he was alight with fire. She sensed him swelling up with pride. “You’re damned right to think so,” she thought. Together they flew up to the city gates.

Ahead was a great line of travelers coming into the city. More and more people were coming each day from all ends of the Earth. In the days in the hospital, Xanadu and the nurses had talked of men who wore more gold than clothing, brewers specialized in all sorts of fantastic elixirs, great princes of the North, and cooks from lands beyond her knowledge. The city felt like it was about to burst from so many visitors. The four corners of the Earth couldn’t possibly all fit within Alba Sarum.

The guards at the gate made way as they saw the Horsewoman coming. She could see them groan as she thundered by. Her wake seemed to kick up conflict at the walls when merchants asked why some mad woman on a mill horse could go right by while they waited to come in. The line of incomers stretched a quarter of a mile now. It had been growing rapidly as the day approached. Sarah sneered as she and Brickwedge exchanged some ugly words with a camel before darting off into the farmlands, kicking up dust at the dumb creature.

Finally the walls off Alba Sarum were gone, the great fields of France spread out before her. No matter how short her stays were, they were always too long. She belonged out here. Where else was there to be? The midday sun beamed down on her. Farmhands ceased their labor to watch her race by. A cloud of dust formed after her. She looked up when she heard a hawk crying out. She cried out with it. It was the cry of freedom. Brickwedge began slowing his pace now. Sarah understood perfectly. Her fun was over. Now she had work to do.

She reached out to the mule from earlier. She always had difficulty with these creatures, but this one was surprisingly coherent. It was several miles down the road next to some shabby tavern. Sarah took her time and enjoyed the bring countryside. If only she wasn’t here on business. The golden sunshine beamed down upon her. She could barely feel her wounds and bruises any more. The birds were singing, her heart went out to them. They were the only real creatures she envied. On horseback, Sarah was entirely unbound, able to cross over the horizon and back. But birds, birds called the skies their home. It would always be more open than a spanning meadow. Finally she approached the run down shack with the name “Tavern” painted crudely over the door. Nearby, the old work mule stood tethered to a post. Her thin hide was drawn tight across her ribs. She shook her head at the pestering flies and kicked up the dirt in frustration. Sarah could tell the poor beast was blind in one eye. Its muscles were beaten and sore. The poor thing hadn’t been treated well at all. It turned its head in her direction, meeting her with its one good eye. “Hello,” thought Sarah, “I am Sarah, the Horsewoman, I have need of your help.” The mule, from what she could understand, asked why. “I help protect the city,” she pointed towards the walls off in the distance, “I seek a man you might have seen earlier today.” She did not quite understand the mule’s response. It seemed to be asking for payment. “I can certainly buy your freedom if that is what you want.” The mule declined. It wanted Sarah to speak with its owner. “About what?” she replied. The mule wanted help. Its owner was cruel. The Horsewoman could fix that. Sarah sensed great anger in its thoughts. “I am sorry, but I will not kill for you,” she thought, “I doubt it will solve your problem anyway. I could talk to your owner and make them treat you better.” How could she promise that? “I can’t, but I won’t kill.” The mule thought nothing, then replied. It asked that she hurt the owner, not kill, only do what his hands had done to her. The Horsewoman thought this over, “Very well.” She dropped from her saddle. She looked deep into the mule’s eye and stroke her mane. The mule twitched its ears. “We have a deal. Who is this man?”

The mule explained. This morning she had seen a man, portly, large, red moustache and bald head. He came around the tavern all the time with the other farmers. They would drink and sing through the nights when they came around. He had ran head first into the tavern, stinking of sweat and grime, he must have been running all day. It was most unusual. He was clearly unwell somehow. She’s never seen him like this. Men only moved like that when they feared death. The mule did not know where he lived, but pointed the direction in which he’d go whenever he left.

Sarah thanked the poor creature. From her saddlebag, she produced one of Brickwedge’s carrots. He was only mildly annoyed. She gave it to the old mule with a pat on the nose. She walked over to the tavern door and entered.

The place was rank, to say the least. Barely any light crept in through the rotting shutters. She could see only a few lowly patrons, mostly drunkards and other more sober people who had no business being anywhere. The knife at Sarah’s side was a great comfort. The image of the mule’s master was clear in her mind. She walked between the small lonely islands with eyes fixed upon her. Finally she saw the man sitting in a corner in the dark. He was handsome, to a point. A deep scar starting at his mouth cut back across his cheek. His hair was all knots. His eyes were a silvery blue which glowed in between the shadows. He sat feet upon the table with two thin rays of light on both sides. “Well,” he said, “What would a pretty lady such as yourself be doing here?” He opened his hand towards a chair.

Sarah chose to stand. “It’s the subject of your mule,” she said, “That is yours outside?”

“Umm, well yes, I suppose it is,” said the man. He had not expected this. “What interest does it hold for you?”

“You keep it out there. In the hot sun and the freezing rain. You beat it senseless for what little work you ask of it and feed it nothing.”

Confusion had turned to strife. “And what business is it of yours how I treat my property?”

Sarah smiled. In a flash a knife shot from her side and sunk into the table, right between the man’s fingers. He shot back. His head cracked against the wall before collapsing on the floor. The Horsewoman was upon him. She grabbed his collar. The man was slammed onto the table. Sarah had a tight grip on his arm and spot softly. “Let me explain to you something. That mule you berate has given you nothing but loyalty for all these years. She does not run from you. She does not kick you when you deserve it. She remains tethered out there on the post.” She pulled the knife out of  the wood. “From now on, you are going to treat that creature with every amount of respect it deserves. If I hear otherwise…”

The man clenched as the knife sunk into his hand. The hot blood oozed out onto his back. He did not scream. Sarah extended him at least that compliment as the blade pierced out of his palm. She twisted his arm around to show him. He could feel tendons scraping against the metal. He couldn’t feel two of his fingers. “I will come back,” continued Sarah, “and I will do far worse that harm the hand you hit with.” She yanked the blade out with one slick move. 

Still he did not scream. He held his ruined hand as the blood ran through his fingers. He tried to bury his fear with anger as  he glared up at the Horsewoman. She could see it nonetheless. She cast a glowering eye to the frozen patrons who were all silent and left. She whipped his blood off as she went out the door.

 

Ragenard waited until the woman had mounted and the hoofbeats had faded be before moving. The bartender ran to him with a towel and water. Still he refused to scream, not matter how close he was. Who the hell was this woman who’d just came in here? Today had been an annoyance before with Abrahil. Now this, whatever it was. For all things to come after him, why the damned mule? He looked over at the silent idiots still looking at him. It stained his reputation. That burned him. This mad woman would have to be dealt with. He knew everyone in these fields and she was clearly an outsider. Probably some foreigner here for the wedding. Either way, he would not take this standing down.

 

Sarah and Brickwedge continued their way in the direction of the farmer’s house. “Don’t you think that was a bit much?” asked Brickwedge, “I mean that mule could have been lying.”

“It wasn’t trust me, I would know. And as for my method, that man more than deserved what he got. That poor mule told me plenty of what he did not just to her but to people as well. He deserves far worse.”

“If you say so,” Brickwedge thought, “So then how exactly do we find this fellow if all we have to go on is a general direction?”

Sarah smiled, “That mule helped us more than you’d think. Most of these farms have at least one work horse. It’d be too much to ask each and everyone, but now with a general direction…”

“Ah clever, clever,” replied Brickwedge, “How goes the hunt then?”

“I’m asking some the horses from farms nearest to this road. They seem to know of this farmer. He goes by the name Abrahil. He goes down this road when he heads into market and takes his children with him.”

“Excellent.”

The walked on for a while, until Sarah took Brickwedge to take a turn off the road. They went down this dirt path for quite a while. Finally they arrived at a small farm house adjacent to an old barn. The fields were in bloom. A golden sea of wheat rippled in the wind. The house was run down, but had a nice appeal to it. Clearly lived in and lived well. Sarah dismounted and rapt three times upon the door. She waited. Silence. She waited a bit longer before rapping on the door again. Still she waited.

Finally the door opened. Before her stood a lean woman dressed in an apron. Her eyes were weathered but retained their alertness. She was curt, “What do you want?”

“Excuse me but I am looking for a man called Abrahil, does he live here?”

“Lots of men named Abrahil live everywhere,” she said, “Mine’s resting. He’s had a long day.”

This was despite it was only midday, Sarah realized. “I have some important business here. Royal business from the Princesses of Alba Sarum.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Oh really and what kind of buisness would you-” She stopped the second the Horsewoman help up the letter with Sarum’s seal and sign. Then she found herself, “You expect me to let you in on account of some paper? You don’t look like a soldier or anything.”

“I don’t look like a lot of things,” said the Horsewoman, “Now please let me do my job.”

The woman roller her eyes again.“Very well. Abrahil!” she shouted upstairs, “Someone here’s to see you. Apparently she’s on the orders of the Princesses.” She turned back to the Horsewoman, “I figure you’re honest, I don’t think anyone would bother with such a pathetic lie so count yourself lucky.”

 

Down the dirt path, seven men on horseback were riding up. Daggers and short swords clanged at their sides. Leading them was a man with a thick bandaged hand. “Alright everyone, let’s make this quick. Get the children if you can, but remember, it’s Abrahil who we’re after. You let him go and I’ll see you all hang.” Ragenard straightened his hat, eyes fixed on the farmer’s house. At least he could get rid of one annoyance today. 


	36. The Farmer Part 3

The portly man with the wire brush mustache sat down opposite her at the table. The bags under his eyes were sagging horribly. “Do what do I owe this visit?” The man asked with a tone that was humble but at the same time carried a sting of suspect. The Horsewoman drummed her fingers on the table. She had nothing on Abrahil. She could sense his heart racing and his sweat breaking out from her sheer presence, but she had no evidence to connect him to the house by the North West gate. She observed his clothes. They were rotten. Though her childhood was an eternity away, she still remembered her parents. They had been far more destitute than Abrahil and his family, yet the farmer was covered with rich black dirt. He’d been somewhere unpleasant for the past night or so. The real clue weren’t his clothes but his eyes. Abrahil was the sort of man who’d been pushed around his whole life. He was one of a massive flock and his eyes read like a book. His pupils kept dilating and focusing on everything on the room but the Horsewoman. 

Sarah cocked her head to one side and claimed, “I am here on behalf of the Princess Alba and the Princess Sarum of the City of Alba Sarum. You are to refer to me as the Horsewoman and nothing else. I have orders which entail the preservation of the entire city.” That should be enough of a proclamation to get him to tell her everything. The man was already quivering so that he couldn’t hold still at the slightest. Sarah didn’t enjoy bossing little people around, but these people she was dealing with had already made her bedridden for a week. She wanted answers. Opening up directly where he had been would likely sport a quick alibi. It would be the first thing on his mind. The Horsewoman spoke, “I would like to know, Abrahil Choldgard, when was the last time you visited the city?”

Abrahil finally stood still. His face turned to elation. “The city? Um...I don’t go into the city that often. The entry toll is too much. I sell my crops at the market. My wife doesn’t bother either, unless it be urgent.”

The Horsewoman raised an eyebrow,“Urgent?”

“Well...um...a couple years ago Gaus, my boy, fell sick. Nastiest thing I’d ever seen. The local healer was no good. We had to take him into the city.”

“And how is he now?” said the Horsewoman.

“Well he’s a fine young lad now!” said Abrahil. His fear vanished in a moment. “My boy’s never been better!”

“I see,” said the Horsewoman, “I’m happy to hear that. Now I have to ask you why are your clothes li-”

“Sarah!” Brickwedge’s thoughts screamed at her. “They’re attacking the house!”

The front door shattered, splitters shot in all directions. A muscle bound man carrying a dulled axe over his shoulder walked in. “Sorry, Abrahil, but you’ve had a bad run of-” That’s when a knife shot into the man’s forehead. He died before he could finish his sentence. There were men outside. They stared wide eyed at their dead friend.

Brickwedge was whinnying and neighing like mad. “They’re everywhere! Get out!”

“Understood,” she replied. “You two!” She pointed at Abrahil and his wife, “Come with me if you want to live.” 

At that, an arrow shot through the doorway, grazing the table. Two men with blades were making their way up to the house.

She reached out to her steed, “Brickwedge! Bow!”

Before they’d set foot in the doorway, the thugs were kicked aside. Brickwedge was there. On his side was her bow and quiver. As soon as she’d untied them, Brickwedge darted off into the fields of wheat. One of the men chased after him. With her bow back, she shot a man standing out in the open. With so few people, they must not be after her. Yet still, there were so few horses in Alba Sarum. She looked over at the couple. They’d taken shelter behind their upturned dinner table. Better to wait it out here. Arrows were shooting in from all directions. Shouts came from all sides. The Horsewoman remained between the front door and an open window. These men were uncannily skilled for simple thugs. There was something she was missing. She turned to Abrahil and his wife behind the table. “Where are your children?”

“I told ‘em to go work in the barn!” the woman shouted back.

Sarah swore. Some men were making their way over for cover. Another shot downed one of them but with arrow firing in from all sides, her opportunities were few. As two men entered from the side, the doors burst open. Abrahil’s old work horse blasted out, three small children holding onto his ratty mane. He flew off into the crops after Brickwedge. They were safe for now.

Up the road, more men were coming. They wore chainmail and many had crossbows. She didn’t like these odds. “Can you two ride?” she asked the couple huddled on the floor. Abrahil looked dumbfounded. He was too stricken with terror. If they couldn’t they’d learn fast. The Horsewoman fired off another shot, taking down one of the crossbowmen. “Cover your mouth and nose!” she shouted to the two. She took out another trick arrow and sparked it. The pouch on it exploded. Green fog enveloped the room. The wind was strong and pulled the fog outthe back of the house. Though her eyes stung of sulfur, she ducked down below the windows and grabbed Abrahil by the wrist. Her vision was blurry at best but she had help seeing through other eyes.They walked out the backdoor of the house. Abrahil was cough up the fog. The men were shouting commands to move up. With help through other eyes, Sarah could see three men standing beyond the fog. She shot three arrows out into what she couldn’t see. They all met their targets. 

Brickwedge, along with two other horses ran head first into the fog to meet them. “Isn’t that Guy’s horse?” asked Abrahil’s wife.

“So it would seem,” replied the Horsewoman, “Grab their manes, whatever you do, don’t let go. Your children are safe for the moment. I need to keep their attention on us.” The three rode out of the fog. the thugs were gathering around the bodies. Bolts fired over them. “Hold on tight and don’t look back!” The couple were praying, the poor people. Sarah looked back. She had enough time to shoot down two more of the crossbowmen. Whoever these men were, they were well armed. Finally they were out of range. “Abrahil,” said Sarah, “You’ve got a lot of questions to answer.”

 

Ragenard swore as Abrahil and his wife rode off with that woman who’d shoved a knife through his hand. Just his luck today that mad woman would be there. He couldn’t do anything with this ruined hand. “I’m disappointed Ragenard.” This is what he had been truly fearing. The man who wore fine robes and finer scents loomed over his shoulder. His words were frost.

“Funny, me too.” Ragenard pointed to the three dead men at his feet. “I wasn’t necessarily expecting a war to break out in the middle of a simple kidnapping.” He glared at the warlock.

“The Horsewoman is involved now. The others will be here soon. Hope that they do.”

“And that’s another thing,” said Ragenard, “Who the hell was that woman?”

“A problem,” was the reply. “A big problem, but there are ways of dealing with her as well. Where are your mounts?”

Ragenard rolled his eyes, “After my men were shot down, they went into a frenzy. Most of them ran off. The rest are like this.” He pointed over to a quartet of horses laying on the ground and glaring up at Ragenard with lazy eyes. “Apparently they’re napping. We’ve kicked them for all they’re good for but they won’t get up.”

“It’s no matter,” said the warlock. He walked up to the steeds that lay in the center of the dirt road and held out a hand. His fingertips cracked with energy.

 

With the two farmers behind, the Horsewoman thundered across the plains. Her mind was racing. She needed a plan His wife spoke up, “Where are the children?”

“They’re safe,  up the road a bit. I’m taking you into the city. You’ll be protected there. Now who was that?”

“That’s Ragenard’s men,” Abrahil’s wife said, “Only person it could have. He’s a sneak who runs some establishments out here on the farmlands. I think he does some business in the city as well.”

“Wonderful,” said the Horsewoman. “Well the fortunate thing is...oh no.”

Off in the distance were four black dots. They moved with great speed, unusual speed. Something was truly wrong about them. 

“They’re after us!” shouted Abrahil, “Oh God, save us.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” replied the Horsewoman. This was wrong. They were riders but she couldn’t sense them. Sarah reached out to the riders. At a single touch, pain racked throughout her body. “What the hell is going on?”

They were in firing range now. The Horsewoman went for an arrow. She pulled back and released. Her shot was true for the lead rider, and she missed. The horse darted to the side with uncanny speed. The creature wasn’t built to move like that. She could tell. Some foul magic was at work here. “This is bad,” she said, dumb struck.

The riders all shot their arrows. The Horsewoman ducked her head below the whirring gale. That had been too close. Then she heard metal meet flesh and screaming followed. Abrahil’s wife had an arrow sticking from her calf. Her husband was screaming at her. The woman was reaching for it. “No!” shouted the Horsewoman. She was all too familiar with her pain. “You must leave it in, else the bleeding will be worse! Hold onto your horse!” She first another shot. She missed again. Something was truly wrong with those horses. They were closing in fast. Brickwedge might have been a mill horse but she’d taught him how to race. The two on the farm horses however were tired. They couldn’t keep this pace very long. She could make it on her own, she realized.

“Repent sinners! Turn from your evil course!” A rock came flying out of nowhere. It found the leader with a satisfying crack as he fell from his saddle. Bishop Larvus was riding beside Abrahil. “Ha ha!” he shouted, “turn back now or else you shall know the wrath of God!”

“Larvus?” shouted The Horsewoman.

“Sarah!” the Bishop replied, “How good it is to see you! Turns out I still have my throwing arm!”

The Horsewoman let loose another arrow. One of the riders swayed as it found itself in his mount’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come out here and say hello. Then I find you being chased by these fellows. I wouldn’t be much of clergyman if I sat by and did nothing now would I?’

Sarah laughed, “You have a funny take on religion, Bishop, I’ll give you that.”

“It’s funny by nature. Ha!” His second stone missed entirely. “Curses. Any idea how to get us out of this mess?”   
“Maybe now. How much faith do you have that God will protect you?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Excellent,” said Sarah. Another arrow shot by. The presence of the Bishop had clearly startled the riders. “When I say, Larvus, Come to a stop and face the riders. I’ll do the rest.”

The old man raised an eye but agreed. He was motionless as an arrowhead grazed by his ear.

“Now!” shouted the Horsewoman.

The Bishop came to a full stop. Sarah and the other two rode on full speed. The riders were closing in on Bishop Larvus. He faced them, rocks in hand and was chanting in Latin. Two riders were reloading. One was already fixed on Larvus. Sarah could see. Even if she could hit him, he’d lose his grip release his arrow. She knew what to do. She aimed true.

The rider’s bowstring snapped. The arrow fell to the ground. He screamed as blood poured from his face. Sarah hi a second rider before he could notch his shot. He fell off his mount. Only one remained. He was riding for Larvus with short sword in hand. Larvus halted his prayer, cast a stone, smacking the man in the face, and finished, “Amen.”

Sarah stopped Brickwedge and the other horses. The rider’s mounts stopped and turned back from where they had come. “Today’s just been full of surprises,” said the Horsewoman, “New things at every turn. You have a good aim, Bishop, tell me, does the Church teach everyone that?”

“No, it’s just a boyhood hobby I refused to quit. The father’s gave me hell for it. Though it was fun to see them stare gawk-eyed when I could nail a rat at a hundred paces. Oh lord.” He dismounted and walked over to Abrahil’s wife, “My child, are you alright? You’ve lost a lot of blood. I should see to this immediately.”

“Thank you father,” she replied.

“Tis nothing, what is your name?”

“Fram” she replied.

“Well don’t worry, Fram, you’re in good hands. Though we will have to get this dressed. Horsewoman, do you have any bandages.”

“Here” Sarah threw him a roll of linen, “That should work.” She dismounted as well. She walked over to one of the men who lay on the ground, a nasty cut clean across his forehead but he was breathing. “Looks like I’ll be hosting more questions,” she said. 

As Fram had her wound tended for the moment, the Horsewoman woke the rider with a good slap. He was alert. Sarah smiled. “Bishop Larvus?” she called.

“Yes?”

“I hate to bring this upon you, but I am going to require your secrecy for what you’ve seen and done here today. It’s something for the Princesses, but nothing they, or anyone underneath them, should know.”

The old man looked up from the bandaged leg. He met Sarah’s gaze. She was firm, uncompromising. He disliked this arrangement but he knew she would have a damn good reason. “Very well.”


	37. Forest Part 1

The caravan had stopped at the side of the road. They had made it down the Pyrenees and were but a few more days away from Alba Sarum. This last week had gone on uneventfully. Good spirits had returned and the road felt less sore underfoot. Ystin had taken Vanguard out for a few flights. The winged horse and its rider would swoop up and soar over the French country side. He’d spend many nights talking with the Roses. Janub in particular, as they sang to his lute. Yet still, every day, the knight could be found sharpening his sword, always vigilant. When the wedding bells rung, Ystin hoped to stand alongside the crowned Queens as a knight of their court. He had been without a home for very long, to serve again as a proper knight was something he had hoped for. 

Al Jabr was in similar moods. His stride was confident and not always needing of a cane. He stood a little taller. He said after this, his debts would all be fulfilled and he could perform the Hajj. The Hajj was a sacred rite all Muslims, if able, should undergo. He would travel to the holy city of Mecca and perform the rites Muhammad undertook in his last years. It would be the first time in too long, he could be without debts. He had came down from his wagon to talk with his subjects. He’d taken a great interest in the Rose named Koichi. The old man had heard many things of the land to the far East but never anything solid. Koichi proved to be lacking that knowledge herself. She had no memories of her homeland. Still, she would meet with Al Jabr to teach him her native tongue, which the Caliph was most eager to learn.

Exoristos was every herself. She laughed more hardy than she had in far too long. She’d been eager to return to Alba Sarum, but feared to meet the sad eyes of the failed Princesses. Now that she should return to see the Queens, all shame was swept aside. In such a short time, she had been welcomed back to her long sought home and now a city she thought could rival it, if they did without all the men. For the sake of their hosts, she’d taken up an unflattering robe that covered her armor. When Al Jabr offered her something more fashionable, she had turned it aside. It was hardly the clothes for an Amazon. She stuck to her burlap robe.

The Roses as a whole were much better. They had seen less and less of Vandal since the pass and were better for it. Exoristos and the Shining Knight proved pleasant company, especially now that the worst of the journey was over. Their meeting with Al Jabr was also fortunate. They knew they would have to come close to the Caliph to retrieve the Grail. However, doing so would be tricky. Al Jabr, though more open now than before was a man of privacy. They never saw anyone go inside his caravan. The only exception had been back in the Pyrenees and it was doubtful any of his subjects would turn for what little foreign coin the Roses had. It seemed the Caliph was a fair man, who had won the respect of his subjects rightfully. Still, they could not return to the Vatican empty handed. Likely they would have to move soon. On the road, the Grail was the most vulnerable. The soon-to-be Queens would place an army between them and their mission. They laid low and waited, Vandal would likely have a plan. When he made his move, so would they.

Vandal had been the one with the most troubles. Prince Medraut had driven him beyond what he thought possible. Now the boy had him clean the chamber pots and clean his clothes. Vandal seethed at every order. Whether his hands were filthy with shit or cleansed with soap, he felt the need to sever them. He was doing the labor of a child, trapped by his own plan. Every second he thought to strangle the boy as he slept, the conjured up the images of the Amazon’s hammer and the Knight’s sword and was beside himself. Medraut rarely let him out of his sight now. He’d tried to reach the Roses, but he could barely get a few. moments to himself. At night, he slept on Medraut’s floor with the only key to the wagon’s new door around the boy’s neck. If he slit the child’s throat, he’d be found out instantly. Any small  ounce of sabotage would undo him. So for now, all he could do was wait. That was the one last resort of Vandal Savage. He could wait until the end of days.

Just before midday, the caravan reached a great forest. The trees had grown wide and tall. A green canopy blocked out the sun. Massive gnarled roots spanned out in all directions and reached higher than even Ex could reach. The only path through was a single dirt road which cut straight through the forest. Ystin was disappointed. He could no longer fly freely. He brought Vanguard to ground and together they made their way down the forest path.

As they made headway, the trees became wilder. They had grown closer in here. Soon there was little to be seen off the dirt road save for the walls of tree trunks. “I don’t like this,” said Exoristos, “it’s like wearing blinders.”

“Calm yourself, Amazon,” begged Al Jabr, “Though there may be some misfortune still in our journey, the worst was in the Pyrenees. I can assure you.”

The warrior rode onward but was dismayed as less and less sunlight penetrated the canopy above them  The day was uneventful, though tense. This forest was unnatural to say the least. They kept to the lonely road. It’s course never changed. But as the daylight became thin, the travelers stopped their wagons to rest. At supper, Zephyrus claimed he saw people out in the forest. Romulus said he’d seen figures high up among the branches. Similar stories circulated the camp fires which huddled by the side of the road, next to the thick wall of roots. It was Ystin who spoke. The forest was unnatural. No trees grew in this fashion without arcane aid. Many heads nodded in agreement. They spoke of the things that unnerved them about this place. It was so magnificent, yet so empty. The place felt wrong. Al Jabr concieded, he ordered to double the nightwatch. Ystin and Exoristos both captained shifts with the Roses beneath them. For some reason, the Caliph still felt weary of them.

So, as the camp fires died out and the moon rose, night came. The first watch was held by the men of Al Wadi. It wasn’t until soon before midnight, Ystin’s shift began. Assigned under him were ten men of Al Wadi alongside Koichi, Nordroni, and Romulus. He and the Roses made up for any lack of Al Jabr’s men. The men watched the road, both in front and behind. They hadn’t seen another soul along this highway. The Roses cropped themselves atop the wagons to look over the thick nest of roots. Sitting at the last dwindling campfire sat Sir Ystin. His whetstone sounded alone in the thick forest. The moon shone off his sword, slashing moonlight onto a great oak.  As he sharpened his sword, he gazed into the dying fire. He let his other senses watch the camp. He listened for any sounds beyond the snores of those lucky enough to find sleep tonight. The hours passed by in silence. Before he was done, Janub got up early. He wanted to brew himself some tea for the night.

When his shift ended, Exoristos took control. She watched over the caravan alongside Janub and Zephyrus. She sat atop a wagon that groaned under her. Her piercing eyes raced both up and down the lonely road, seeking out what she knew was missing. She found nothing. As she watched, Zephyrus thought to search the area. He had barely slept. He disappeared for several hours. The watch passed on quietly. When he returned he gave hushed curses. He couldn’t find anything in these woods, not even animal tracks. He dreaded this forest. Janub silently sipped his tea, at ease but watchful. Despite his age, he could see well in this darkness. All was quiet in through the night.

Morning came and all was well, save for the restless sleep. No one had slept soundly. Camp was backed up with groans and aches as the caravan set on down the road. All eyes stayed fixed on the trees. They made on past midday. The caravan stopped only when the hour came to pray. Towards mid afternoon, the lights became dark again. Only strains of fading sunlight broke through the trees. It was then something came up uphead that made everyone stop. It was peculiar, something they would have last suspected, a clearing. The trees gave way for a small meadow which the path cut straight through. “How strange,” said Al Jabr, “I have to wonder who owns this forest. Still, it isn’t too bad to finally see the sun again.” Out of the woods, an arrow grazed his ear. “Well, nothing lasts forever. We’re under attack!”

Ystin and Ex leapt ahead., scanning the forest. a slew of arrows came flying from all sides. As men and women were struck down by arrows, the wagons were rolled to form a perimeter. The Roses moved people behind cover. Exoristos and Ystin stood outside, facing the storm raining down upon them.

“Who the hell is after us now?” shouted Ex. She batted down a barrage arrows. 

“I’d imagine thieves, if we are lucky,” Ystin replied.

“And when are we?” retorted Exoristos.

 

“Well there’s always a time for everything,” said Romulus. More arrow heads cut through the air between him and Koichi.

“You’re far too naive,” she said. As Ystin and Exoristos drew fire outside, they took up shelter with the Arabs. The carts were drawn into a tight circle but the spaces between were far too large. The Caliph’s men formed a second inner ring of shields to protect the citizens who huddled in the center of the chaos.

“I told you I hated this place!” shouted Zephyrus, anchored down next to a neighboring cart. “We’re surrounded on all sides!”

The crowd was beginning to panic. Fright was exchanged between the soldiers’ glances. “Fear not!,” Al Jabr said. He stood tall. He walked out out the ring of shields. Casting his cane to the ground, he shouted, “God stands by his servants. We will not give into fear and intimidation by common criminals.” He looked over at the Roses with their backs to the wagons. “Knights, in my chambers is a gas bomb. Find it and set it off, we can escape in the cloud!” He was dragged back behind the soldiers before his people could see him wilter.

The Roses looked at each other. Janub smiled. He signed only one word, “Grail.” 

Romulus nodded. He saw Nordroni was closest to the Caliph’s wagon. “Zephyrus!” he said, “Keep your eyes open and cover Nordroni!”

The archer obeyed. Sprinting between the carts, he dodged under arrow fire to reach Nordroni. “And you all have the nerve to call a bow unbecoming of a knight.”

“Let’s move,” the Nord replied.

Arrows flew over them. Whoever these archers were, their shots were uncanny. But they were no match for Zephyrus. He let loose several arrows that after which his smile was followed by screams.

“No one hides from me.”

They found the Caliph’s wagon. One side resembled a pincushion more than royal transport. Zephyrus leapt up onto the driver’s seat as Nordroni followed after. The door was fixed, unsurprisingly. She called for the archer. Within a second he turned and in unison, they kicked the door open. The spearwoman rushed in, the archer right after. They were inside the Caliph’s home.

Arrow heads still sounded outside like heavy metal rain. Oddly, none had pierced the inside. Likely this wagon had more tricks that met the eye. Where the hell was this gas bomb? And more important, the grail? The two upturned the place. The mattress thrown up. Books were knocked down. Zephyrus rapped on the walls.There was a small toilet with some kind of pedal mechanism beyond either’s knowledge. It was then Nordroni spotted it. In a small burlap bag in a cupboard above the bed, she saw something glimmer. Taking the bag in hand, she looked inside. There were two items, and old clay cup and a black diamond. She looked at the contents and smiled.


	38. The Forest Part 2

“Well will you look at that,” said Zephyrus. His hand plunged into the bag. “The Cup of Christ.” He held it up. It was light, very light. Maybe less than a pound. It was weathered but quite unremarkable. The only signs on it were three rings that ran the bowl. “I won’t lie, I expected something a bit more.”

“What is this thing?” asked Nordroni. The other content of the bag was a massive diamond, black as the night. Its edges were cut to perfection. You could cut stone with it. She gazed deep inside the gem. All she could see was darkness. “Why would the Caliph carry these two together?”

“Beyond me,” said Zephyrus. He rolled the cup around in his hand. “Now we know what this cup looks like, but all the same, taking it would a great risk. Perhaps it’s a fake and the real grail’s hidden elsewhere.”

Nordroni frowned. Taking the grail would be too obvious. They’d be caught immediately, especially if this fight were to end poorly. She put the black diamond back on the shelf and begun looking for the gas bomb again.

Zephyrus studied the Grail, taking in every little detail. His eyes were par none. “At least we know where to look,” he said as he placed the cup back in its box, “and I know what to replace it with.”

The two returned to the search. Despite the Caliph’s illustrious name and title, his quarters were very sparse. There were a few neat changes of robes, some jewelry, some heavy Arabic books, and even some perfume. It was only until a third check, that Nordroni found a floor board to refuse to lie properly. It rose up above the rest which were surprisingly well furnished. She jabbed an arrow head from Zephryus’ quiver into the gap and pressed. The floorboard rotated upwards. A cavity lay before her with a massive draw rope. She looked over at Zephyrus. “Only one way to figure out.” The grabbed hold of the rope and pulled.

The rope reached its end and released its tension. The knights went hurdling back. The wagon rattled with a thunderous hiss on all sides. There was cheering outside and the rain of arrows was receding. Zephyrus opened up the door and was met with a blast of green gas that smelled of rotten eggs. He nearly heaved at the stench. “That man is sickly,” he said.

As Zephyrus gagged, Nordroni ran head first into the fog. Her eyes stung, but she could still see the huddled mass of soldiers and servants. They heard the Caliph shouting, “Get outside the cloud! Make sure no bandits get in!”

In an instant, Zephyrus leapt atop the Caliph’s wagon, soldiers were already securing it. Smart move. Standing on the roof, Zephyrus’ torso protruded the cloud. Ystin and Exoristos were still out there, drawing fire. All the archers were focused on them now. They were easy targets. As the travelers got onboard the wagons and carts, filling them to brim, the Caliph lead the charge out of the clearing, his trail of green gas covering the others. It was clearly some machine under the cart that stored the green gas, but how long would it last?

The roof was shifting underneath him, but the archer found footing. The arrows were focusing on the lead wagon now. If they got the horses, they’d trap the entire caravan. Zephyrus had no time to chose his targets. His eyes swept the forest for the hiding archers, only taking aim at those who looked at the horses of the Caliph. Behind him, more men stood atop the carts, hanging on for dear life. They all had bows and crossbows though they were not used to firing at these speeds. At the very end was Exoristos. She held an unusually large bow. She was shooting off into the tree line. Every shot concluded with a scream.  

Some mounted men had taken to up ahead of the caravan as it roared down the forest way.  They kept to the sides, should anyone fall, they would not block the carts. They kept eyes peeled for traps. Zephyrus gulped. He would never have tried such a thing. The arrows were lessening now, same for the reserve of gas. The thick putrid cloud was now turning into a little green stream that trailed the Caliph’s cart. The archer looked back down the path. He could see no riders pursuing them. So there was that relief.

Though they were out of the immediate danger, the Caliph pressed onward. The bandits would not have a chance to catch them again. Riding alongside the cart behind him, Zephyrus saw Nordroni. She exchanged a look with him. They were one step closer to the Grail. The caravan rode as fast as it could till sunset.  The guard this night was doubled. All five Roses shared a shift. It wasn’t until they were certain all were asleep that they decided to speak.

Romulus brought his knights close and only spoke in whispers. “Well, what did you see?”

“We found the Grail,” said Nordroni, “Or at least what we believe it to be. The Caliph is a smart man, I wouldn’t put it past him to have a duplicate somewhere.”

Romulus laid back, “Hmmm, I suppose there’s no way to test if it’s truly holy. Perhaps Lord Savage would know. I spoke to him a bit during the frenzy. He’ll be trying to meet with us tonight, if possible.” Whatever had happened to that man escaped all of them. “What did it look like?”

“Nothing much,” said Zephyrus, “Just a simple clay cup with three lines around the bowl. It was quite peculiar.”

“Then there was the diamond,” said Nordroni. The others looked at her, confused. “It was strange, in the box with the Grail was also this black diamond. It was massive. For some reason, the Caliph carried it with the cup. It felt dark, evil.”

“You’d be right to fear that thing,” said Vandal. He stood before the Compass Roses looking like a beaten dog. He was weary, he looked old, and he was dressed in filthy rags. He collapsed down between Zephyrus and Janub. “I should have expected as much. Al Jabr has with him the black diamond. It’s something Exoristos had with her once, never got the finer details. That thing’s damned powerful. It lets loose the aggressive feelings you all keep bundled up. I once saw it dropped amongst an army of giants. They killed each other for it. Why the inventor carries it with him is beyond me, but something must be holding its aura at bay. Otherwise, there would have been fights breaking out amongst the caravan.” He stroked his beard. “Such an item would be useful. Best we take that as well.”

“And the Grail?” asked Romulus.

“Well now, this cup you described sounds familiar. I’ve seen it a couple times in my life. Al Jabr would be wise to make a duplicate, possibly more. Though maybe he’s grown a bit senile in his age.” He paused. “It’s too dangerous to call.”   
“Is there anyway to see that it’s the genuine item?” asked Zephyrus with a curt tongue.

“Hmmm, no,” said Vandal, “Not that I know of...unless…” His face was once concerned again. “If I recall, the grail causes problems. I once saw it sprout a forest in the middle of the desert. Quite the surprise, I must say. The black diamond could be used by Al Jabr to counteract the Grail and the otherway around. Interesting. I never saw him for one to accept magical solutions, but strange times call for stranger measures. There will be one way to test the Grail’s power, we separate it from the diamond. Though that will certainly cause a stir. Hmm. This is more difficult than I would have thought. I shall try to meet with you again soon. We are only a few days from Alba Sarum. If we fail now, we may lose the Grail forever.” Vandal clenched his fist. He met the knights’ gaze with cold, angry eyes. We are not to fail. Or else you shall wish the goblins had gotten you.” With that, he ended the conversation. He walked off towards Prince Medraut’s wagon.

Zephyrus only spoke when he knew Vandal was gone. “Arrogant ass. I think the child’s melting his mind.” The rest of the night passed uneventfully.

 

When it was time for the Shining Knight and Exoristos to keep watch, Ystin got out his sword and whetstone and started working. Exoristos gave a quick look around the perimeter. Nothing moved in the deep forest or she simply couldn’t see it.

“I don’t think the bandits followed us,” said Sir Ystin.

Exoristos did not break her focus from the tree line. “What makes you say that?”

“If these were bandits, they would have been upon us by now,” replied Ystin. “Think about it. Of all the places to attack us upon this road, they pick the one spot where we can maneuver the caravan?”

“Right,” said Exoristos, “They also have no reason for putting their trap this far out. They’re been no one else on this road.”

“Exactly,” said Ystin. “And I spotted no one the night before either. I don’t think those were bandits.”

Exoristos was confused. She knew of the perils of Man’s World, but this one was odd. “Then why attack us in the clearing.”

“Well,” said Ystin, “If I had to guess. I would say whatever attacked us was really defending itself. We were more or less the aggressors.”

Exoristos folded her arms. “What did we attack?”

“In the end it doesn’t really matter, Al Jabr doesn’t believe in such creatures and we’ll be on high alert all the way home. But I would wager we walked into somewhere else. I’ve heard stories about gaps between worlds. I believe that was one of them. What attacked us were the inhabitants of the ground we upturned.”

“Well it makes about as much sense as anything,” Exoristos paused. “You’ve felt it too?”

“Felt what?”

“A growing feeling. Like your fingers can reach out and touch something afar. There’s something strange going on.”

“I see what you mean,” said Ystin, “I’ve felt something similar. It was strong when we entered the clearing, like the walls are thinning.”

“What could do that?”

“Something powerful,” said Sir Ystin, “Someone like Merlin perhaps. Or maybe he’s been keeping some details about Camelot away from us.”

“I couldn’t say,” replied Ex, “I only met him once. He seemed like an ass.”

Sir Ystin glared. “He may be proud but he’s allowed to. There’s a reason he’s the greatest mage of any era. Not good, not evil, but great.”

“Oh I am liking this more and more.” Exoristos sighed. “I thought for once things would turn out normal. We can all just ride into the sunset then slay a monster for lunch.”

“I think that’s the sad truth about people like us, Exoristos. Our battle is eternal.”

Ex snorted. “Oh don’t go about thinking I don’t mind an eternal battle.” She twirled her warhammer around. The air whooshed as it swung. “For that I am more than ready.”

Ystin smiled. He put his sword aside and wrapped his arms around the warrior woman’s torso. “Thank you Ex,” he said.

Exoristos was puzzled but cradled his head.“For what?”

“For being here.”

The rest of the night passed in peace. There were no sightings of bandits. They continued their way to Alba Sarum.


	39. Tunnel

The sun shone bright upon the fields. Xanadu had found the perfect tree to lay their blanket down. The shade of the green oak was cool. The only thing for miles was a run down old farm house off in the distance. The Horsewoman carried with her the finest food from the palace kitchen, all sorts of cheeses, pork, bread, carrots, apples, crusty sweets, and even a few bottles of wine. Today was utterly perfect for a picnic.

Jason had brought with him some of his favorite books on poetry.  He offered some of his favorite sonnets. Bishop Larvus was there as well. He’d never had the chance to rest outside the city walls and was escorted by six of Alba Sarum’s finest men. The Horsewoman sent off their steeds to frolic as they wished. As Jason Blood opened up with a elegy of sweet spring, Xanadu opened the wine. She poured for everyone, save the Bishop of course, then offered to Larvus’ escort. The thirsty men smiled, taking their cups and joining everyone in a toast. “To beautiful days to come,” they all said and drank. The guards finished their drink and then stood quite still. They just stared off past the picnickers and into the horizon. 

“Alright, now we can move on,” said Xanadu.

Larvus looked up at the six men sworn to guard him, “Poor souls.”

“They’ll be fine in a few hours,” said Jason, “Today’s going to be a nice, pleasant day for them. No let’s move.”

“Well but, what if someone comes by?” he asked.

“If anyone else approaches them,” said Xanadu, “they’ll act perfectly normal. It’s only us they won’t see.”

The four of them made their way down the hill toward the ruined farmhouse Abrahil had told them of. Brickwedge was waiting there. He had seen no one. Gray Jackaby and the other mounts rode up. Xanadu, Jason, and the Horsewoman opened up their saddle bags. Magic implements, a short sword, and arrows were prepared. Larvus hadn’t brought anything. Still Jason offered him an extra sword.

“Sense anything, Xanadu?” asked the Horsewoman.

“No, nothing, thank God.”

“Are you sure this is the right place then?” said Jason.

“Abrahil was very specific,” said Bishop Larvus, “It should be right here.”

The party of four looked around. This house had been cleared out recently. The whole place was covered in soot and ash. The roof had been burned away, leaving only the dead remnants of a frame and the collapsing stone walls. In the middle was a chard long table. The Horsewoman looked at the thing wearily. “I’m sorry you have to see this, Larvus.”

“I know of such things my child.” replied the Bishop, “All too well.”

It was then that Jason shouted out, “I found it.” Amongst the burnt remains was a trap door.

Xanadu held out her hands and made a sign as lightning cracked at her fingertips. The Horsewoman drew her bow, aiming an arrow at the door. “Knock,” she commanded.

Jason looked up with her with fearful eyes and gave three loud raps. Silence. He looked over at the Horsewoman. At her nod, he knocked three more times. Still nothing. 

“Alright, open it.”

The trap door lurched open. A rush of rank air rose up to meet them. It smelled foul. Inside was only blackness digging down deep into the Earth.

“Looks like this is the place,” said Larvus. “So….” the Bishop rubbed his hands together, “Who’s going in first?”

The Horsewoman spoke up, “Bishop Larvus, I suggest you stay behind. This is no place for you to.”

“Oh, come on. I’m involved now, and I’ll see it through. I have a duty to protect this city too you know, and I won’t do it withering with my backside in a chair.” He walked back to the horses and came back with a torch. “Who’s going in first?”

Jason flicked a sign and crawled down the hole. His boots squished on the damp earth below. “Well,” he said, “Let’s get to it.”

Xanadu went in next with Larvus after. The Horsewoman was last. She told Brickwedge to check the area for trouble before going on down in the darkness. The pitch black tunnel was most foul. The air was putrid. Thick finger-like roots reach out at them. It was then that the Horsewoman realized she actually towered over the others by at least a head. She smiled.

Larvus shared his light with her as they began their way down the tunnel. It was much wider than expected. It was wide enough to have four men walk side by side. Even the ceiling seemed to rise up as the floor dove downward. “So this marks the second time this week we’ve got to go into foreboding dark pathways,” remarked Xanadu, “Wonderful, simply splendid.”

“Did you say second time?” inquired Bishop Larvus. “What interesting lives you lead.”

“Yes, though my biggest question is how is capable of making these damned things. All that Earth had to go somewhere. My guess is that there is magic at work here.”

Larvus smiled, “Excellent.”

“You really do pick the odd ones,” Jason said to the Horsewoman.

“Larvus leaned into Xanadu. You still haven’t explained this other passage you found.” His eyes were bright with curiosity.

“Well I suppose it doesn’t matter, if you talk of it, I’ll know,” said Xanadu, glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just this is all so exciting.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Jason, “Xanadu has a few issues with men of the robe.”

Larvus nodded. “Yes I can see why. Far too many are so misguided.”

“It’s not if they care about the words of Christ that bothers me,” said Xanadu, “It’s when they try to burn me at the stake.”

Larvus was struck hard. “Oh...dear...I forgot. I am sorry Madam Xanadu, I’ve been away from my brothers. I sometimes forget what they do to heretics. I’m getting long in the tooth.”

“Does anyone else notice the tracks?” said the Horsewoman. 

All the lights veered down. The floor was a mass of boot prints of every size and shape. A couple were even clear deformities. The tracks were going in both directions, though most of it was heading in their direction, toward the city. Two long marks deep in the middle of the tunnel as well.

“The farmer did speak of using a sled to move goods,” mentioned Xanadu.

The tunnel went onward. Eventually the slope leveled out. It was for a quarter of a mile or so when Xanadu held out her hand and the party stopped.

“What is it?” asked Larvus.

The Horsewoman looked up at the roof. “We’re under the city now.”

They all listened. In silence, they could hear the muffled sounds of life up above. These people had dug far under the city.

Jason spoke, “How far are we?”

The Horsewoman pressed her temples. I can sense where we are but it’s difficult. We are somewhere just within the city walls. We’re not far from that far from the house.” She was displeased. “Let’s finish this off. I’d like to be back at the palace for some target practice.” They continued onward. The indistinct sounds of people and animals hung over them. Finally the tunnel ended. It stopped with a shaft reach upward. A wooden ladder lay against a wall of dirt and had sunken into the earth.

“Jason,” said Xanadu, “Would you do the honors?”

“Why me?” he replied.

Xanadu huffed. “Because I’m not wearing pants,” she said.

“I’d rather not as well,” said the Horsewoman.

Jason made a face, he grumbled a bit, but he grabbed the ladder and hoisted himself up. He reached the top, and opened up the trap door at the top. He gazed out and quickly shut it before shouting down, “The farmer was telling the truth. This tunnel runs all the way into the city.”

“Damn,” said Xanadu, “Just what I need, more complications. Something is going on.”

“This is all very strange,” said Bishop Larvus.

The Horsewoman spoke, “Someone’s been sneaking in supplies and people into Alba Sarum. For some reason, this is related to my inability to commune with the horses.”

“They know what you’re capable of, Horsewoman,” said Jason on his way back down. “They’re afraid of you.” For a second, Sarah smiled. “Whether they know about me and Xanadu is another matter, or even the others.”

“You don’t think someone could be targeting the Grail could you?” said Bishop Larvus.

Xanadu swore again and clenched her fists. “I had a suspicion that this might happen.” She looked over at Jason, “Alright, more than one. I should have had more foresight. It’s all happening again.”

Larvus spoke up again, “I’m sorry, what is?”

“Camelot, damned Camelot. it is said that every time a Camelot should rise, it will inevitably fall just short of its founding. The princesses wish to bring about a new brighter world, but they may be doing something far worse.  They could spell the end for their own city.” Xanadu held onto Jason. “Damned Camelot.”

“Well,” replied the Horsewoman, “I say we find these smugglers and warlocks and show them what they’ve wrought upon them themselves. We and the others have faced down worse before without the aid of an entire city of mages behind us.” She turned about and headed back down the tunnel. “Come on, let’s not waste time in the dark.”

 

Upon their return to the castle, the Horsewoman sought out Abrahil and his family. They were kept close in a local inn, the board for which Xanadu had paid well in advance. They were safe here from the prying eyes of the palace and off the street. Fram was not pleased by these new conditions but Sarah explained well what the cost were. Fram was then quite furious with her husband, learning he not only was working for that bastard Ragenard but was bringing supplies into the city. The children were growing fidgety within their one room but that was the worst.

The four returned from their picnic with escorts who would be too embarrassed that they’d lost track of time from the Madame’s drink. No one was the wiser of their exploits within the tunnel. Bishop Larvus left to see to his church’s duties. He was both excited and weary of what he had learned today. The Horsewoman went off to practice her archery. Twice now she’d met creatures that could dodge her aim and that was far too many. Jason went to the library. He thought there might be some information in the city records and certainly something in the books about Alba Sarum’s mage communities.

Xanadu went to meet with Princess Alba alone. She did not like being the sole bearer of such news. She meet her in the princess’s private quarters. She explained that their picnic had yielded results. Abrahhil had in fact been working with a local racket that was smuggling things under the city walls. Whoever was doing this also had access to powerful magicians, ones that were aware of the Horsewoman’s abilities and had some truly frightful knowledge.

The princess did not take this well, “Damn them! Damn all these bastards!”

Xanadu dropped to the floor as a chair smashed against the wall. The old woman was surprisingly spry.

“Why damn it!” she shouted,” Why now?” In almost an instant she was turning to tears. She dropped onto her bed.

Xanadu, picking herself off the floor, sat beside her. “I know, Alba, believe me I know. You’ve waited too long for this and I’m sorry, so is Jason, so is the Horsewoman, so are all the others.” She did not include Vandal for obvious reasons. “But we have to prepare. If you and Sarum are to make a new Camelot, far worse things will befall you. I’ve seen Camelot fall once. It was more than enough. However, things are different this time. We can prepare for what may come and we can stop it. You need to tell Sarum about this.”

“I wanted to be wrong,” said Alba, “We stayed true to our word and have let ourselves grow old.” She held her withered and wrinkled hands. “I’m barely the woman she deserves anymore. I don’t know how she can bare to look at me.”

Xanadu held her. She let the princess rest on her shoulder and stroked her greying hair. “I’ve seen countless people grow old. Believe me, you are lucky to be so young as you are. Sarum’s wise enough to love you for you. I doubt she would have waited this long if she wasn’t.” Xanadu was quite impressed with their stubborn resolve. Then again, she used to be like that many centuries ago. “You have to tell her.”

Princess Alba sobbed. “I don’t know how I can tell her. To have her know I lied…”

“It will be worse the longer you wait. Sarum may be obtuse but she knows how to handle these things. We need to find Ragenard and his thugs and find out what they’re up to. Otherwise, the whole city is at risk.” Xanadu shuddered, “Your beautiful city must not succumb as mine did.”

Alba lifted her head. “I have heard stories of the last night of Camelot. They say beasts took the walls and reduced it to rubble.”

“Legends spin many ways,” said Xanadu.

“How did Camelot end?” the princess asked.

“The short answer is poorly,” replied Xanadu, “The real truth...that’s something a bit more complicated.”


	40. Camelot's Last

“Where is Arthur? Where is our king?” The tower rocked. Fire and stone was rained down. Sir Percival, still dressing, yelled so loud the entire castle heard him. Servants and maids ran up and down the stairs and through the halls. Another volley cracked the walls. Xanadu led the young mage pupils with stride. Her heart was burning. Her hands trembling. She did all that she could to stand tall. The avoided looking out the windows she past. She could see the city burning. The people were dying in the streets. She heard them all, even from here. This was no mortal evil they faced now.

“Pervical!” she shouted, “Get hold of yourself! You’re a knight! Act like one!” With a raw slap, the man came to his senses.

He stuttered his response,” Th-th-thank you Xanadu, thank you. You must get out of here! This is no place for you!”

The castled rocked again, the ground tilted beneath them. “This is where I shall stand, Pervical. If the city needs me, I shall answer its call. We must find Arthur, and where the hell is Merlin?”

“If only I knew,” said the knight. “All of Camelot is in chaos. Let us make for the courtyard.”

Xanadu nodded and they made their way, pupils in tow. They made their way through the halls, Percival spoke to the running servants and maidens to keep calm. Find a safe place to hide until the fighting ended. Xanadu admired the strength to exorcise fear from his voice. “Do you know what evil is at our doors? The Queen again? Le Fay?”

Xanadu swallowed. “I was with Jason outside when I spotted it, yet I still don’t know what I saw. It was….a black disc, made of iron. It flew as high as the birds, maybe higher.”

“What sort of mad sorcery could do that?”

“I sensed none of the sort. This is strange magic.”

Another blast came and the walls shook. The ceiling caved and the way was blocked. “I know another path,” said Percival.  

As they drew closer to the courtyard, the air became laden with a terrible din. A constant roar unlike any other. The yard itself was barren, all had rather flee into the burning castle than stay in the open. Percival looked up, it was as Xanadu said. A great black circle hung in the air as if fixed by strings. It was dark as night. It’s constant roar set the courtyard in the center of a storm. The wind howled all around as it hung there. A great green blast of green erupted from its belly. The air split with a shrieking boom. Xanadu’s eyes burned. A white light consumed everything and she collapsed. Stones came crashing down in the courtyard.

The light vanished. Xanadu rose up. Her skin was sizzling red and blistering. Percival lay pining on the ground with her Merlin’s students. One of them lay limp, a brick sitting in a messy pool of his torso. The air was black with smoke. Xanadu screamed out. The library of Camelot was burning. Only a chard crater remained of the place. The scraps of papyrus were sent flying amongst the rain of ash. All her work, all her knowledge, all her world burned before Xanadu’s eyes. She wanted to scream but her voice had long left.

“Xanadu!” Percival stood. His armor was sizzling hot like a kettle cast into the fire. “We have to get out of here!”

“And go where?” she asked. She had nothing else to say.

“Anywhere but here, come on!” The knight pushed her back towards the exit but something had caught the sorceress’ eye.

Atop the ramparts stood a figure. His auburn locks whipped about in the furious inferno that razed in the library. The jawline raised to start at the dark circle that hung above. His eyes burned with rage. He was dressed in black plates and chains as a ruddy cape hung to his back. In his right arm was his sword, slender and silver, shining like the sun. Under his other was his helm. It was hard cord iron, peaking at the top and a thick nose guard. It was a hideous chunk of metal. Yet running around it was gold. Intricate and beautiful, it was adorned with roses and thorns. Just over the nose guard was a cut red ruby. It was majestic on the otherwise ugly helmet that made it kingly, for it was the kings. “Hear me, beasts, monsters, warlocks, and demons,” he spoke, “I know not black magic you master to bring down hell fire and raze my halls, but this is no common court you have come to claim. Even to the last man, my knights will stand proud against your evil. You are damned, you and all who follow. Today you will know pain, though me and my men may fall, I promise you shall know pain. For this is Camelot and I, Arthur, am its king!” And so, the kingly helm rest upon his head. “Have at thee!”

Green fire spewed forth. The air split again as the castle walls rocked. Xanadu shielded her eyes as the eastern tower erupted in flame. Camelot’s own stones ripped into the ramparts. Merlin’s little students screamed as rock tore through the air. The splitting scream echoed within what remained of the courtyard. A pause, only a small pause before the ground thundered and Xanadu was eaten up in white dust. The raging winds of the black demon circle cleared it all and she could see. The eastern tower had fallen. She had only been several paces from death under stone. Chard brick and bodies were strewn about the courtyard, black and burning. She recognized none.

“Move!” screamed Percival. His fingers dug into her arm and held fast. He yanked her out of the courtyard and back into the halls. “Damn it, woman, this is no time to lay idle! Get out while you still can!”

She looked up at the shrieking knight. His eyes were blood-shot eyes and his whiskers burned off. She would never seen him as Sir Percival. He was crying. “For what? What is there to life for? Camelot burns, you fool. What is left beyond flaming oblivion?”

“Listen!” he shouted. “Listen. You must escape, while you still can. The castle will fall within the hour if even that long. But you must escape. You, you fey women, you must survive. You have the power to undo this. You can raise these halls again. I know it is beyond bleak, but you must live so that our deaths will tally to something by tomorrow.” The crying knight drew his sword and headed back out into the courtyard. “If I am to die, it will be beside my lord. At least I can do that right.” So Percival walked back, into the fray. 

 

That had been the last she’d seen of him. she hid in the kitchen as the castle walls reverberated. Sitting, crouched, with a put as a helmet. She cried for the first time in too long. She thought of all the commoners, likely dead under some rock rubble, nothing but hares caught between two wolves. The world was too damned cruel. Arthur’s heroic bellows sounded across the castle. He spoke of bravery and of honor, how Camelot would fight to the last man. She dreaded that it was so. Blood would fall down the steps of the citadel until the entire country was no more. “Damn him,” she said, “Damn men and their arrogance.” 

Merlin had warned her of this day. He had seen it before in his thousands of lifetimes. Everytime he would watch as Camelot succomed to the beasts. Yet he always survived, that mad magician. His tongue was more forked than a serpent's.

She sat alone. She heard plenty screams but no one came by the kitchen door. She would be safe in here surely. The foundation here was the strongest. The ceiling would never came. Finally the castle’s quaking ceased. The screams were silenced, though the fires still raged. A tattered sobbing mess, she came out into the courtyard. The walls had been ripped down like a child’s things. Knights, squires, commoners, and lords lay strewn about the stones. Many she could not make up from what remained. Others were all too familiar. She remembered the face of the stable boy whose name she’d never know. His body lay with sleeping eyes opened, looking up into the deep sky overhead. Xanadu searched about for Jason, but there were so many and so ravaged. He was likely dead. He deserved none of this. She could see Sir Tristan’s charcoaled corpse unrecognized save for the armor that was certainly his. Maybe someone else was in there, she hoped. But of course, it wouldn’t be so. 

Atop the rubble and ruin she saw him. The lively man in black and green, now laid down in peace. Had this been a better day, she’d call him sleeping. She knew it wasn’t so. His hand was over his heart while the other way limp upon the ground. His fine auburn hair draped the stones, small parts had been burned. “Damn it all,” she managed. Her knees failed her and she pressed her wet face to his chest plate. “I’d damn you my king, but you’ve seen to that yourself.” This day had come. It would always come, as long as men walked this Earth. 

“Nimue.” A soft and kind hand glided upon her shoulder. “Time to do what must be done.” Madame Xanadu stood as Nimue. She met her sisters, adored in their robes. Though they were her blood, they were not like her. They cast no eye upon the carnage in which they stood. Their kind words came cold, unmoved. “Arthur has been lost and must sail home..” Her sisters wore pure white amongst the ash.

“Yes, yes, I know.” She wiped away tears. “Damn it, I know. Just...let me have this moment.”

“Time is of no importance.” Her sisters bowed their heads.

What a fool, a damned, damned fool. He was nothing more than a child under the guise of a man. Xanadu had been there when Merlin had tucked him under his wing. She see him galloping across the countryside with his sword, freed from its stone keeper, in hand. Though he’d grow, he was always seeking new adventure. His crown seemed to itch as he’d take any excuse to leave his walls and right evil. Still she always watched on from the ramparts as he rode out. A boy like that would never surrender these walls. When Merlin told her Camelot’s fate, she’d knew he’d never let his castle fold. Xanadu cried. She cried because she’d always known this day would come. The day the once and future king would die.

“His sword,” she said, “Where is his sword?”

The sisters looked amongst each other. “It is in good hands. Soon it shall be returned to to the Lady. It is making its way to the shore even now. Shall we prepare his crossing.”

Xanadu looked down at the boy with auburn locks and said, “Yes.”

The ceremony was quick and unworthy. A man who’d built Camelot from nothing had no great rites to mourn him. Certainly they were none he’d approve of. They were the old ways. The ways the fey tended their dead since the days of the Britons. They fetched a board to place under him. With three at each side, the lifted him up and carried him out. The meager procession passed through the flaming courtyard laid with bodies and the burned. Each had given their life for king and castle yet they would receive no rites. They were not important to the fey.

Xanadu remembered the nameless stable boy. She’d remembered the swooning tales told by Sir Lancelot. There had been Aldus the bard and his songs of hijinks and misfortune. The cooks would beat little servant boys who thought to steal from the kitchen. She missed dropping eaves on guards complaining about how winter made their metal armor freeze their tits. There was the long talks with Lady Guinevere of girlhood dreams. Jason stammering and talking in circles when speaking with her on long slow walks through the forest. Was that worth remembering? Was it worth an ounce of bronze if it would all come tumbling down and only the king would be venerated as he’s carried out his gates by women who neither knew or cared about him?

Arthur and his procession went under the portcullis. The village below was still burning. Not a babe could be heard. Perhaps she could find some survivor, but she knew it was not so. Every common folk of Camelot was to be slain. They carried Arthur down to the river. A boat was there, carved with elegant curls and not of this world. It rocked gently in at the fisherman’s dock. The scuttle across hadn’t been touched by green fire. Her sisters lowered him down inside. He still remained so restful and so young. With her sisters, Xanadu sat in the boat. It cast itself off with unseen oars. It snailed its way out into the water, still gently rocking. It was then she heard shouting from behind.

“The beasts have broken us! The castle has fallen! Flee, you innocents unprotect! Flee while we die!” Sir Galahad stood at the shores of the lake. His mail was ripped. He staggered, his weight was heavy on the sword he carried. It was Arthur’s sword. His face was bloody and his eye gouged. He spotted the boat making its way out. He saw the maidens and worst of all his lord, “Arthur, my king!”

Her sisters spoke up, “We are taking him outside time, to Avalon, so he may one day return.”

“But-” he stammered, breath weak and weary.

“You have Excalibur, the sword of power. He has given you your orders.”

Galahad paused. he looked hard at his lord’s blade. His heart was sinking. Against all conviction, against all his wishes, he obeyed and cast the great sword into the lake. A lady’s can leapt out from the waters and pulled it down. It would soon return to its owners.

Xanadu surrendered, “Sod this.” She leapt down. One of her sisters cried before she plunged. She was no swimmer but she would follow the blade as the lady pulled it down. Her robes were heavy and breath was short but she followed it. Still, it vanished beyond her grasp as her sisters and the vessel vanished into Avalon. It was all for naught. All of it was for naught.


	41. Fascimilies

Koichi made her way through the town. It was a small little place, just outside of the dreaded forest. Apparently the locals were not fond of traveling down the woods path unless it was absolutely dire. None of the travelers were surprised. They told stories of eerie things with-in those trees.

With only a few more days until Alba Sarum, the caravan had taken a stop so the sick could be better tended to and soldiers to rest themselves. It was an opportune time for the Roses. These scant few days had allowed them to talk with Lord Vandal. Koichi didn’t care for him, but if it meant closing in on their assignment, she and the others could leave. In her pack rattled what she’d just bought from the local potter. She avoided her fellow travelers as best they could. In the center of town, which had grown far too crowded with the passing peoples, she spotted Romulus and Zephyrus. She gave them a simply hand motion from across the square and they made their way off. 

As the two of them made their way towards Nordroni, Koichi spotted Janub singing his heart out with a local with a lute of his own. Janub’s partner sounded quite fowl. His instrument was made of poor, undefined wood and his notes rang with all the tune of rusted metal against stone. Still, Janub played with him as an equal. She gave a quick tap on the shoulder and he moved with her. He bid a small farewell to the aspiring failed musician and made his way after Koichi.

They said nothing, but kept their eyes peeled for Ystin and Exoristos. Koichi hadn’t seen them only on the outskirts of town but caution was absolutely necessary. Fortunately for all knights involved, they did not see Vandal Savage. Koichi noticed Janub’s face seem a bit brighter. They made their way out of the town square, ignoring the commoners offering them trinkets and toys. When the two were finally rid of the beggars, they ducked into an alley. The place was narrow, between two houses that leaned closer and closer together allowing only a small sliver of light from above. It stunk like dung. A thin river of piss trickled down the middle. No Arab would dare come down here. 

The two found the rest of the Roses waiting for them. Their eyes all open for eavesdroppers. The trip had made everyone paranoid. Zephyrus even had an arrow drawn and looking down the alley both ways.

“Anyone follow you?” asked Romulus.

“No one. Only some street children,” said Koichi. She slid off her pack, keeping it far from the ground. Amongst her food and waterskin was a small lump wrapped in cloth.

Romulus grabbed it, quickly undoing the cloth and held it up for Zephyrus and Nodroni. “Is this the cup you saw?” He held in his hand, a simple clay cup with three rings running around the bowl.

“It’s close enough,” said Zephyrus. His eyes still cast down the alley. “When do we start?”

“Hold on,” said Nordroni. She took the cup from Romulus’ hand and held it up to the light. “I remember it being a lighter color. This is too brown.”

Zephyrus was displeased. “It was dark in the wagon,” he said in a breath. “Can you keep that out of sight?”

“Unless we stop again before Alba Sarum, it will have to do,” said Romulus. He took the grail back and wrapped it in the cloth. “We only need to a few days lead before we will be beyond even their reach. Everyone shivered. Crossing Al Jabr and the others did not look pleasing. Of course, neither did betraying Vandal Savage. However they all knew, betraying Vandal would have far worse repercussions.

 

Outside of town, Ystin stood overlooking a small mud hut. It was a foul hovel, held together with sticks and matted with grass. He particularly eyed the handmade posts topped with pentagrams and other occult shapes with distaste. Exoristos didn’t seem to mind. He uttered to himself, “Here there be witches.”

Ex grabbed his hand, “Don’t be puerile, Ystin. The townsfolk have said many a good things about this madam.”

“My attitude’s not from rumors but from experience, I’ll have you know.” The Shining Knight held tight to his hilt. “There’s a good reason to not trust such people. You never know what they’ll make off with and it’s often more than just coin.” The Amazon gave him a good slap on the back. He stumbled forward several paces. “Stop that!” he burst.

Exoristos laughed as the little man rattled in his armor.

“You should know better than to trust a folk who cast spells and curses. Take Etrigan for example.”

Ex rolled her eyes. “Ah, little knight, you should know better than to doubt an Amazon. Trust me, we’ve had to deal with Gods whom are much more troublesome, and yet still we come out on top. Come now, let’s see what we can learn.” Pushing Ystin along, the two approached the witch’s home. The door, or semblance there of, was a low hole in the shell of caked mud with a cloth on the inside draping it. Exoristos spoke, “Excuse me? Madam Mary? We are two travelers seeing guidance.”

In an instance, the cloth ripped back. Before the two stood an old woman taken right from a child’s nightmare. All parts of her face converged on her nose, as if someone had grabbed her features and tried to pull them together with horrifying success. It was difficult to tell if her right eye was in fact missing. Pointing out at Ex and Ystin was her fat meaty hook of a nose home to an entire forest of warts and growths. She held in her mouth a crude pipe carved from bone. It bounced up and down with the smack of her gums, corroded black things that made the warrior’s stomach quease. The woman was round and short. The low floor of her hovel made her even smaller. If it weren’t for her hat, she’d be absolutely miniscule. A bright green pointed hat sat atop her head, showing only a few twisted strangles of hair. The flat fat brim reached out, bending over and obscuring her forehead. The point rose up before it collapsed under its own weight and pointed off to the side. Her voice was damn near intelligible, most of her tear had been rotted out. “Well? What do you want?” she said, taking out her pipe to blow smoke towards them.

Ex was the one to speak. She noticed Ystin’s hand still clenched his sword. “We inquire about the nature of the forest. We and our companions passed through it on the way here. There is strangeness in those woods and we seek enlightenment.”

Madam Mary gazed up at Exoristos, unmoved. She took a few more puffs on her pipe. Ex’s brow lowered and she pulled seven coins from her purse.

In an instant, the coins were snatched up and in the witch’s hand. “Well if it’s enlightenment you seek, I shall abide. Come on now, get inside.” She turned and disappeared into the hut. 

Exoristos, dumbfounded looked over at Ystin. He was locked dead eyed with the door, ready to draw his blade. She spoke, “You don’t think she rhymed like-”

“If she did, she shall soon wish she hadn’t,” was his response. Neither of them moved toward the door. “If she has anything, I am more than ready,” said Ystin, “She will soon learn the cost of threatening a knight.”

Exoristos collected herself, “That she will. Indeed witches are strange in Man’s World.” She pulled back the cloth and hunched over to enter the hut.

The place smelled of rotting things and worm eaten earth. All manors of charms and sigils hung from the low ceiling made of sticks. Thick roots came in through the walls and erupted from the ceiling. Strange as neither the heroes recalled any trees nearby. The only furniture were some crude stools and a table. Most of the room was focused around the great fire pit in the center where Madam Mary was dropping in cut logs. When the wood was piled high, she snapped her fingers and a fire roared to life.

“Witches” muttered Sir Yistin.

It was then that Madam Mary acknowledged the two.“Say what you will of my practices, knight, but there must have been a reason you came through my door. Come, sit.” She pointed to the stools around the now quiet hot fireplace.

With reservations, Ystin and Exoristos sat. The witch offered them heavy cups of what seemed milk with honey. Ystin smelled it and found something he didn’t care for. Exoristos eyed it was well and instantly put it down.

“Every well, be that way, I just wanted some company,” Madam Mary said. She clinked the coins together. “But if it’s business you only care for I suppose I shall provide. The old woman sat down opposite to them and watched the smoke be sucked out through the large hole in her roof. “There’s a reason many travelers don’t take the forest road. I suppose you have figured out a small part as to why. There is a part in that road where the trees hold back with only a small meadow. It is where the borders ‘tween  world of man and the realm of the Green begin to fade.”

“The Green?” asked Exoristos.

“Aye, life, all life in this world is connected by the three strings of the life-web, the Red, the Rot, and the Green. All things that grow in this earth are connected by the Green. Those that walk the world are of the Red, the ones that decay the dead for the living are the Rot. Through the generations, the three often shift in balance. If there is too much, there our world can feel it. The life web is being pulled again in ways it’s not meant to. Green warriors stalk that meadow as they fear for their realm. They don’t take well to trespassers as i am certain you know. I’d be careful if I were you, when the realms reach their imbalance, there are rarely not humans caught in the crossfire.


End file.
